TREASURE 

for 

DEBBY 


AMY WENTWORTH STONE 














TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


By Amy Wentworth Stone 

P-PENNY AND HIS LITTLE RED CART 
HERE’S JUGGINS 
TREASURE FOR DEBBY 













/ 






"Why—yes ” said Debby looking up in surprise 
































AMY WENTWORTH STONE 

u 

Illustrated by 

MARGARET AYER 



BOSTON 
NEW YORK 


JuativLap, <£ee and SijepaA d Company. 

1936 





C 



*2'|S1 



Hr 


Copyright, 1936, by 

LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 


Printed September, 1936 


t 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



/.<?.?£ 


385C6 




To 

the Members 

of 

Lucile Gulliver 9 s 
Monday Evening Class 
in 

Writing for Children 
Who Were the Inspiration 
for 

Debby 




CONTENTS 

Chapter One. The Old House Is Opened . . 15 

Chapter Two. The Little House at the Foot of 

the Garden . . . .29 

Chapter Three. Debby Asks Aunt Rett a . . 43 

Chapter Four. Polly’s Patient . . . .57 

Chapter Five. To Accept or to Refuse? . . 70 

Chapter Six. Debby Receives a Call . . .85 

Chapter Seven. Not for Sale . . . .100 

Chapter Eight. A Treasure Disappears . . 113 

Chapter Nine. Polly Puts the Kettle On . . 125 

Chapter Ten. Another Treasure Disappears . 139 

Chapter Eleven. A Letter Comes and a Letter 

Goes.152 

Chapter Twelve. Whales and Other Things . 165 

Chapter Thirteen. Polly Ties a Hard Knot . 180 

Chapter Fourteen. And Debby Unties It . . 194 

Chapter Fifteen. Somebody Guesses . . .208 

Chapter Sixteen. Aunt Retta Is a True Stebbins 219 

Chapter Seventeen. A Very Old Secret Is Told . 230 

Chapter Eighteen. A Dream Comes True . . 243 








ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Why — yes,” said Dehby looking up in 

surprise ...... Frontispiece 

Would Aunt Retta know anything about it? . . 3 5 

Examining every inch of it with greatest care . . 97 

But it was not old Minnie at the door . . .134 

"I don 9 t want you to think we Stebbins are not just 

and fair” . . . . . . .205 





TREASURE FOR DEBBY 







Chapter One 

THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 

D ebby —oh—Debby,” came the shrill triumphant 
voice of little Polly Stebbins from the upper 
hall, "Aunt Nell asked Aunt Retta to let me wear 
Great-grandmother’s brooch, and I’ve got it on!” 

Following the voice came Polly herself, sliding 
down the mahogany banister, and bouncing off the 
newel post at the bottom. 

"Polly,” said Deborah severely, "you know Aunt 
Retta told you not to do that again. And now the 
whole house is dusted and fixed for the guests.” 
"Well, I just gave it an extra dusting,” said Polly 

15 















16 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


calmly, adjusting her brooch. Then she looked up at 
her older sister, standing in the doorway in the old- 
fashioned dress. "Oh, Debby,” she exclaimed, forget¬ 
ting everything else, "you’re wonderful! You look 
exactly like the portrait—only prettier,” Polly added 
generously. 

Polly herself was not in the least pretty. Her 
straight black hair stuck out around her dark, thin 
little face, and her nose tilted ridiculously. Debby 
was dark too, but her face was soft and oval, her hair 
fluffed out around it, and her nose was exactly right. 

Both the girls glanced through the drawing-room 
door at the portrait of handsome Great-grandmother 
Stebbins in crimson gown, that hung over the mantel¬ 
piece. Debby, wearing this same gown, did look won¬ 
derfully like Great-grandmother, except for the tall 
comb at the back of Great-grandmother’s hair, and 
the jeweled cross on a carved chain at her neck. 
Debby and Polly felt sure that this chain and cross 
must have come from some Spanish treasure house. 
For Great-grandfather Israel Stebbins had been cap¬ 
tain of a splendid clipper ship, and had brought home 
his bride from the Spanish colonies far to the south. 
She was beautiful and mysterious, this great-grand¬ 
mother of theirs—and tragic too, for five years after 
her marriage she had gone down with her husband in 
their ship at sea in a great storm, leaving three tiny 
children behind her at home in the old Stebbins man¬ 


sion. 



17 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 

"I wish you had the chain to wear today, Debby,” 
said Polly, looking at the portrait. "'Then you’d be 
perfect. Did it really go down with the ship ? If I had 
had anything like that, I shouldn’t have taken it on a 
journey.” 

"They think that she took it,” said Debby. "At 
least, nobody ever saw it again. And she took nearly 
all her fine clothes too, except this dress and the 
brooch, because she and Great-grandfather sometimes 
went to grand balls when they touched at foreign 
ports.” 

"I wish she was here today,” sighed Polly. "She’d be 
ever so much nicer and prettier than Aunt Retta to 
shake hands at the door, and she’d love to have all the 
people coming in to see the beautiful old things that 
she had to leave behind her when she went on that 
dreadful journey.” 

"She wouldn’t like that old pasteboard box you’ve 
left on the table there, Polly Stebbins,” said Debby 
suddenly. "Don’t you remember that Aunt Retta 
said you mustn’t put anything down in the hall this 
afternoon. What’s in it?” And Debby picked up 
the box. 

"Don’t you touch it!” cried Polly, jumping for the 
box, "It’s mine and Zab’s.” 

"Oh!” said Debby, with a little squeal, as she lifted 
the cover. "You dreadful child! It’s full of daddy- 
long-legs.” 

"They’ve all lost one leg,” said Polly, recovering 


18 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


her box. "We’re going to see if we can do something 
about them.” 

Polly intended to be a trained nurse when she grew 
up, and was already practising the art of healing on 
anything she could find. Little Zabdiel Eaton, who 
lived next door, practised the art of anything that 
Polly did. 

"Well, you’d better do something about them right 
off,” said Debby. "If Aunt Retta finds them, they’ll 
lose more than one leg. This is the most important 
day in the whole year for this house.” 

It was, indeed, a great day for every house in the 
little Maine town of Bellport. All along its wide elm- 
shaded street the fine old mansions were standing with 
doors wide open in the August sunshine, waiting for 
the visitors who would soon come thronging in their 
cars, from far and near. It was Community Day, and 
any one who bought a ticket at the Academy at the 
head of the Green might wander at will in and out of 
the old houses, upstairs and down, among all the price¬ 
less things that they held. In order to raise money for 
the little Academy, the people of Bellport would for 
this one day show their treasures to the world. No 
other town in Maine could boast such Chippendales 
and Heppelwhites, such pewters and porcelains, such 
ivories and carvings and hangings, brought straight 
from the Orient in the clipper ships that long ago had 
crowded Bellport’s wharves. 

And of all the old houses, the richest in treasures 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 19 

was perhaps the Stebbins mansion, standing stately 
and withdrawn, with its four great chimneys and its 
high white portico, on a little hill at the edge of the 
town. Only a few, even among the people of Bell- 
port, knew the half of all the beautiful old things 
that it held, for Miss Henrietta and Miss Eleanor had 
lived, like their house, a little withdrawn from the 
life of the town. Some said that they were too proud 
to mix in community affairs, others that they were 
too poor—perhaps both poor and proud. For it was 
rumored that they had lately been obliged to sell one 
of their beautiful old highboys, in order to make ends 
meet. Nobody had seen the highboy go—it must 
have been taken away in the night—but the place 
where it had stood was empty. 

The people in the other old Bellport houses asked 
one another how Miss Henrietta and Miss Eleanor 
could possibly get along at all, now that their brother’s 
two grandchildren had come to live with them. 
Deborah, to be sure, was very talented, and had found 
a place to help in the drawing classes at the little 
Academy, but Deborah was only eighteen, and the 
Academy itself was poor, and could pay very little. 

Perhaps it was because the Academy had been good 
to Debby that Miss Henrietta had consented at last 
to exhibit her treasures, for when Community Day 
arrived, she had not only opened wide her door under 
the high white portico, but she had dressed her pretty 
niece in Great-grandmother Stebbins 5 crimson gown, 



20 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


and had set out her Paul Revere silver on the ma¬ 
hogany table in the dining-room. Miss Eleanor had 
made a trayful of thin delicate oatmeal wafers, and 
from four to five Debby was to serve tea in the old 
China cups. The Stebbins mansion, that in Captain 
Israel’s day had kept open house to all who came, 
should offer a little hospitality again. 

"There comes Aunt Retta now,” exclaimed Polly, 
as there was a firm step on the stairs, and she hastily 
thrust the box of daddy-long-legs into the drawer 
of the mahogany table. "And there’s a car parking 
just outside. Oh, goody, they’re beginning to come. 
I shall stay right here in the hall, and take everybody 
in to see Great-grandmother’s portrait.” 

"I’m going into the work-shop for a minute, before 
I put the kettle on,” said Debby, all at once shy and 
self-conscious in her crimson gown, and she ran 
quickly through the door at the back of the hall, and 
out into the little room at the side of the house that 
opened on the garden. It was Debby’s own little 
studio. In it she kept her drawing materials, and in 
it she dreamed her dreams of the art school where 
she, somehow or other, was some day going to study. 

To learn to paint —really to paint, fine and beauti¬ 
ful things like Great-grandmother’s portrait! It made 
her tingle to think of it. She had been working on a 
sketch of the portrait just within the last two weeks. 
It was lying now, almost finished, in her old sea chest. 
Sometimes Debby wondered whether, if she should 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 21 

sell the chest, she would have money enough to go to 
Art School. She shivered a little whenever she thought 
of this possibility. For the old sea chest had been 
made by Captain Israel Stebbins himself, and seemed 
to Debby almost as much of an heirloom as the other 
beautiful old furniture in the mansion. Rough-hewn 
it was, with handles of knotted rope, but on top was 
a nice bit of home-made carving, and quaint letters 
intertwined: 

"WHERE THY TREASURE—THERE 

THY HEART” 

The only treasure Debby had found in it were two 
or three old charts, but some day it should be filled 
with the drawings that would make her rich. 

She rather wished that Polly would think of send¬ 
ing somebody in to see the old chest. It was funny, 
thought Debby, that Polly was not a bit shy with 
strangers. She was seven years younger than Debby, 
but Polly always knew what to say to people. She 
should have worn the crimson gown, since it was she 
who was helping Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell at the 
front of the house. Debby could hear Polly’s high, 
cheerful voice in the distance, inviting people to go 
right upstairs and turn to the left, and directing 
others to the drawing-room and Great-grandmother’s 
portrait. 

Debby, lingering, looked out between the heavy red 
curtains of the window in the little work-shop, and 


22 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


saw a stream of visitors coming up the hill toward 
the house. She really must go and put the kettle on, 
and set out Aunt Nell’s oatmeal wafers in the dining¬ 
room. People would soon be wanting their tea. Was 
that Aunt Retta coming to find her now? She heard 
a firm step already just outside the door. 

Debby turned and went quickly toward it. But 
it was not Aunt Retta. It was a tall, strange young 
man, who filled up the whole doorway. He was sev¬ 
eral years older than Debby, and rather grave, ex¬ 
cept for his eyes, which had a pleasant twinkle. 

"There are no antiques in here,” said Debby, in 
sudden confusion. 

"No?” responded the young man. "Well, perhaps 
after all I am a little tired of antiques.” And he 
smiled at Debby. 

The quick color came into Debby’s face, but she 
smiled back in spite of herself, for there was a pleasant 
friendliness about the young man that made her feel 
at ease with him at once. 

"In fact,” he added, "I prefer reproductions when 
they are as good as that,” and he looked with frank 
admiration at Great-grandmother’s crimson gown, 
and the dark hair piled high on the pretty head, so 
exactly like the portrait’s. "You see, I deal mostly in 
reproductions myself,” he added. 

"Oh?” said Debby, her hands on the back of a 
chair behind her, as she looked up at him with ques¬ 
tioning eyes. 

"I’m connected with the Columbian Museum of 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 


23 


Fine Arts. I buy pictures for it,” explained the young 
man. "My name is Eric Anderson. I suppose you are 
Miss Stebbins?” 

"Yes,” said Debby, all uncertainty gone from her 
face at the mention of the great museum. Her most 
precious day-dreams had to do with the beautiful 
pictures that filled it, and with its famous art school, 
where girls more fortunate than herself could learn 
to paint. She had been there once—had seen those 
happy girls, in painting smocks, standing before 
easels in the great corridors. And now here, before 
her, was somebody really connected with the mu¬ 
seum. She forgot her shyness, forgot that Eric Ander¬ 
son was still looking at her. 

"How did you happen to come here?” she asked. 

"I came because Em most awfully interested in 
old treasures like the portrait in the other room— 
and this,” said Eric Anderson, looking away from 
Debby at last to the old sea chest that stood against 
the wall. 

He walked over to examine it more closely. He 
touched the weathered oak and the hand-wrought 
iron clasps. Then he stooped to read the carved 
words: 

"WHERE THY TREASURE—THERE 

THY HEART” 

"That’s a fine piece,” he said. "Is it old?” 

"My Great-grandfather made it,” said Debby, who 
had followed Eric Anderson across the little room, 


24 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


and stood beside the chest. "My aunt gave it to me. 
She doesn’t consider it a real antique, but I like it best 
of all.” Debby laid her hand lovingly upon it. 

"Is there treasure in it?” Eric Anderson asked. 
"There ought to be, in chests like that, you know.” 

"Nothing but my old drawing papers,” laughed 
Debby. 

"Do you draw?” said Eric Anderson, looking down 
at her with fresh interest. 

"A little,” said Debby. "I help to teach drawing 
at the Academy, but really I need to be taught my¬ 
self—if I could ever go to Art School!” 

"Do you want to go?” asked Eric, his eyes still on 
Debby’s eager face. 

"More than anything in the world,” said Debby, 
with an intensity that surprised him. 

"Why don’t you, then?” said Eric Anderson. 

"Well—I suppose we can’t afford it,” replied 
Debby, with an embarrassed little laugh. 

Then she bit her tongue. What would Aunt Retta 
think if she could hear her saying these personal things 
to a strange young man? But Debby had never met 
any one like Eric Anderson. Though she had known 
him but a few minutes, he seemed already an old 
friend. 

"Won’t you show me something you have done?” 
said Eric. Then, as Debby hesitated —"Please ” 

With an impulsive movement, she opened the chest, 
and took out a sheet of paper that lay on top of the 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 


25 


other drawings. It was the sketch, in color, of Great¬ 
grandmother’s portrait. 

"I don’t really know much about doing faces,” 
said Debby, holding out the sketch rather shyly for 
Eric Anderson to see, "but it’s fascinating to try to 
work in flesh tints, and I love rich colors like this 
dress and the jeweled chain.” 

"So do I,” said Eric, as he took the sketch. 

For what seemed to Debby long minutes he studied 
it, examining it closely, then holding it at arm’s 
length, but he made no comment. Of course, thought 
Debby, sitting on the chest, he must consider it crude 
and amateurish, and he was just racking his brain for 
something tactful to say. What a silly goose she had 
been to show it to him! Aunt Retta was right—she 
was altogether too impulsive, especially when she 
liked people. 

"I think I made the sketch as much for the jeweled 
chain as anything else,” said Debby hurriedly, to fill in 
the embarrassing silence. "You see, there has always 
been a mystery about it. It disappeared. That is, 
nobody knew what became of it after Great-grand¬ 
mother was lost at sea. It was immensely valuable, 
and I—I thought I should rather like to have another 
exact picture of it for family records.” 

"That’s interesting,” said Eric Anderson, but his 
eyes were still on the sketch, as if he had not more 
than half heard what Debby had said. Then he looked 
up, and there was more interest than ever in his eyes. 


26 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Would you be willing, Miss Stebbins, to let me 
borrow this sketch for a few days or a week?” said 
Eric. "Your aunt tells me that you do not know what 
artist painted the original portrait. There is some¬ 
body at our museum who knows a great deal about 
portraiture, and the styles of different artists. I think 
if he saw this sketch he might be able to help identify 
the artist who did it. He might know what marks 
to look for on the original. I would be very careful 
of it.” 

"Why—yes,” said Debby, looking up at Eric An¬ 
derson in surprise. "Of course you may take it— 
that is—if you think it will really be of any use in 
finding out about the artist. But,” she hesitated, 
"it’s such an imperfect thing—I don’t see how it 
can.” 

"It is wonderfully good,” declared Eric Anderson. 
"You have caught the pose and spirit of the thing 
exactly. I mean you have conveyed the artist’s own 
touch remarkably. Did you really do it quite by your¬ 
self—without any help or instruction?” 

"Why—yes,” said Debby again. 

She did wish that she knew some way to keep the 
color from coming into her cheeks. It made one so 
utterly ridiculous to blush. Great-grandmother Steb¬ 
bins probably blushed in her day, and no doubt Aunt 
Retta in hers—though it was hard for Debby to 
imagine Aunt Retta in any such predicament. But 
girls of to-day were not so foolish. Why couldn’t she 


THE OLD HOUSE IS OPENED 


27 


be like Polly, whose cheeks never grew pink, except 
when she ran races. Polly could always look anybody 
in the eye and say, without changing color, just what 
was in her mind. 

Debby, too, looked right at Eric Anderson as she 
spoke. In spite of that betraying color, there was 
always about Debby, when anything had to be faced, 
a certain clear directness, a dash of the same high 
spirit that had carried Great-grandmother Stebbins 
to sea in clipper ships. 

"But if I am to take it away,” ventured Eric Ander¬ 
son, "you must let me make a deposit. I am sure you 
value it, and you don’t know me at all, you see.” 
And he put his hand in his pocket. 

"Oh, no,” said Debby, with unexpected decision, 
getting up from the chest, and taking the sketch 
from his hand. "I couldn’t do that. It’s not finished. 
Besides, I couldn’t take money that way.” And Eric 
Anderson, looking down at the slim, straight figure 
in the crimson gown, and those dark unwavering 
eyes, caught a glimpse of something unflinching. 

"But I’ll be glad to have you just— take it,” said 
Debby relenting, and holding out the sketch, "if—if 
you really want it.” 

"Thank you, I do want it very much, and I promise 
that it shall come safely back,” said Eric. And he 
took the picture, but he looked at Debby. 

"Oh, dear!” she exclaimed suddenly in consterna¬ 
tion, turning away from him. "It must be after four, 


28 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


and I’ve forgotten the tea. Oh, poor Aunt Nell!” 
And she ran toward the door. It was only yesterday 
that Aunt Retta had reproved her again for being 
so irresponsible and day-dreaming, and now she had 
neglected her part on this day of days. What would 
Aunt Nell think of her? 

"Please don’t go. It’s only five minutes of four,” 
said Eric reassuringly, looking at his watch. "And 
nobody will think about tea for half an hour.” 

Debby turned in the doorway. 

"It will be ready in five minutes,” she said, with a 
little smile at the corners of her mouth, "and the 
dining-room is almost across the hall—if you would 
like any.” 

Then, with a rustle of the crimson dress, she was 
gone. 

"Aunt Nell,” came Polly’s high little voice from 
somewhere, "Debby’s been in the studio for half an 
hour with a strange, handsome young man, and she’s 
never liked young men before!” 

Eric Anderson smiled as he put the sketch care¬ 
fully into his brief case. Then he went out into the 
hall—and turned toward the dining-room. 


Chapter Two 

THE LITTLE HOUSE AT THE FOOT OF THE 

GARDEN 

D ebby ran up the stairs to the attic, with Great¬ 
grandmother’s crimson dress over her arm. It was 
so lovely, and such pleasant things had happened while 
Debby had had it on, that she wished she could keep 
it in her closet, but Community Day had come and 
gone, and Aunt Retta said that the old dress must 
be folded away again at once in its trunk. 

The attic was in the fourth story of the high old 
Stebbins mansion, and the stairs were steep, so that 
Debby paused for a moment, a little breathless at the 
top, outside the attic door. From inside came a 
familiar sound—click-clack-clicketty-clack, click- 
clack-clicketty-clack. Debby knew that it was Polly, 
writing on the old typewriter in the little room at the 
end of the attic. Polly called this her office, and when¬ 
ever she was missing it was the first place to be 
searched. 

Debby opened the door and went in. She walked 


29 


30 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


across the great square attic, with the big brick 
chimneys in the shadowy corners, past the rows of 
trunks, the old churn and spinning-wheel, and a bat¬ 
tered desk, full of charts and tarry string that smelt 
of the sea. She looked in through the doorway of the 
"office,” and there, sure enough, was Polly, in her 
Scout uniform, sitting up very straight on a piano 
stool before the old typewriter, tapping it busily 
with one finger. Polly had only recently joined a 
Scout troop, and although she was not supposed to 
wear her uniform about the house, she put it on and 
came up into the "office” whenever she could. 

The sun was pouring in through the one little 
square window, and the small room looked very bright 
and cheerful to Debby, after the dimness of the attic. 
There was nothing in it but the typewriter on a 
shaky table, the stool on which Polly sat, and an old 
broken-down armchair. All over the walls were 
pasted pictures of animals, which Polly had cut out 
of the newspapers and Our Four-footed Friends, and 
above the typewriter hung a worsted motto in a 
frame, unearthed from somewhere in the attic, read¬ 
ing "GOD BLESS OUR HOME.” 

"Are you doing some more on Sylvia?” asked 
Debby, with a smile. Polly had for some time been 
writing a novel, called Sylvia Fisher, or the Adven¬ 
tures of a Trained Nurse, of which Debby had one 
day found and read the first chapter. Polly was very 


THE LITTLE HOUSE 


31 


much in earnest about Sylvia Fisher, and she did not 
like the way Debby smiled. 

"None of your business,” said Polly, going right on 
with her typing. 

"Do you think that’s a very nice answer for a 
Girl Scout?” said Debby, looking severely at the uni¬ 
form. "I thought Scouts were supposed to be 
courteous.” 

"It’s Wednesday,” said Polly, without looking up. 

"What difference does that make?” said Debby. 

"Fm courteous on Fridays,” said Polly, raising her 
head, with more of a tilt to her nose than usual, "extra 
courteous, to make up for the rest of the time. It’s 
easier to remember, if you put the things all in 
different days. On Wednesdays Fm cheerful.” 

"Oh,” said Debby, trying not to look amused. 
"Well, what are you on Tuesdays?” 

"Fm useful and a help to others,” said Polly, with¬ 
out a moment’s hesitation. 

"I hadn’t noticed it,” said Debby. "What did you 
do to be helpful yesterday?” 

"Pleaps of things,” said Polly indignantly. And 
she stopped typing, and quickly pulled the paper out 
of the machine. "You can just read them for yourself 
if you want,” she added, thrusting the paper at 
Debby. 

Debby took the yellow sheet, and this is what she 
read: 


32 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


THE HELPFUL DEEDS OF PAULINA DE 
CORDOVA STEBBINS 
ON TUESDAY, AUGUST THE 15TH 
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD ONE THOU¬ 
SAND NINE HUNDRED AND 
THIRTY- 

1. I got up at six and let in Isaak Walton and 
gave him his fish because he was mewing at the 
door. 

2. I made Aunt Retta’s bed though she was 
perfectly horrid. 

3. I told Aunt Nell she had a run in her stock¬ 
ing before she went down street. 

4. I saved fifteen lame daddy-long-legs from 
certain death. 

5. I dusted the south parlor for Community 
Day and I didn’t shake the duster in the fire¬ 
place once. 

6. I was a great help to Aunt Nell all the 
afternoon. P.S. She told me so herself. 

7. I didn’t tell Aunt Retta about Debby’s 
boy friend. 

"What do you mean, Polly Stebbins!” exclaimed 
Debby. "He’s not my boy friend. I never saw him 
before.” 

"Well, I didn’t tell Aunt Retta how long you 
talked to him anyway,” said Polly airily, and she 
picked up the sheet of yellow paper, which Debby 
had put down on the table, and marched out of the 
"office” and through the attic. Polly always did have 



THE LITTLE HOUSE 


33 


a way of sailing out of things, thought Debby, look¬ 
ing after the Scout uniform, as it turned down the 
attic stairs, and smiling a little in spite of herself. 
Then she went back into the attic, and opened the 
old trunk to put away the crimson dress. 

There were other things in the trunk—an old satin 
waistcoat that Aunt Nell said Great-grandfather 
had worn at his wedding, Great-grandmother’s slip¬ 
pers with the little rosettes, and boxes full of smaller 
treasures. There were also several Paisley shawls, 
pungent with the camphor of many years. Debby 
loved the delicate smell of old camphor. There was 
something mysterious and haunting about it, just 
like the attic itself, and she always looked in the 
boxes to make sure that there were no treasures that 
she had not seen before. Always she hoped against 
hope that somewhere, in a forgotten corner, she might 
come upon Great-grandmother’s beautiful carved 
chain, with the cross and the priceless jewels. Of 
course she never would, for the chain had been lost 
for more than sixty years, and was probably at the 
bottom of the sea. Besides, they had been all through 
the trunk ever so many times. 

But today Debby did find something new in it, 
after all. Kneeling on the attic floor, she lifted the 
things out one by one and looked at them again. At 
the bottom of the trunk, under an uninteresting piece 
of old cloth, she came upon a little quaint pink cotton 
apron, that must have been Great-grandmother’s 


34 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


when she was a young girl, because on the tiny pocket 
were embroidered the letters P. de C. in faded coarse 
blue cotton—Paulina de Cordova. Polly was named 
after Great-grandmother. Debby held the little apron 
in her hand and looked at it intently. It made Great¬ 
grandmother seem suddenly so near and real—a young 
girl like herself. Debby stood up and put the apron 
over her own fresh pink dress, tying the faded 
strings behind. With her dark hair, she knew that 
pink and crimson were her colors, just as they had 
been Great-grandmother’s. Then she put her hand 
into the little embroidered pocket, and, lo and behold, 
there was something in it! Debby’s heart gave a little 
jump, for it felt like a necklace, and when she took 
it out, sure enough it was; no rich, carved chain with 
jeweled cross—the pocket was too small for that— 
just a gay little string of gold beads, which Great¬ 
grandmother had probably worn in the morning with 
the little apron, when she went singing about the 
big house as a young bride. Would Aunt Retta know 
anything about it, wondered Debby? Aunt Retta 
had been only four when her mother went to sea for 
the last time, and remembered her only very dimly. 

Indeed, Debby knew that there was only one person 
in all Bellport old enough to remember the day when 
Great-grandfather had brought home his pretty 
Spanish bride. That was poor old Anthony Thorpe, 
who lived with his deaf and dumb niece, Minnie, in 
the tumble-down cottage at the foot of the Stebbins 



Would Aunt Rett a know anything about it? 


















3 6 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


garden. Old Anthony was the village half-wit, and 
although in his younger days, and before the illness 
which had still more addled his wits, he had, so the 
story went, been handy with tools about the ship¬ 
yards, and had even gone to sea and seen a bit of the 
world, by the time that Debby and Polly had come to 
live in Bellport, he was just a queer, doddering old 
man of ninety, who went mumbling about the vil¬ 
lage with his basket of eggs. He and his old niece 
kept a bedraggled flock of hens, that ran about the 
field behind the cottage. Sometimes the hens ran 
through the hedge into the Stebbins cottage, and then 
Aunt Retta vowed that she would have old Anthony 
moved out of the cottage at once. 

"They should be in the poor-house,” said Aunt 
Retta. "They are utterly shiftless, and they ought 
to be taken care of.” Nevertheless, she sometimes 
bought old Anthony’s eggs, for Aunt Retta had a 
kind heart, as well as a stern face and a sharp tongue— 
"Though I shouldn’t buy anything else that came 
out of that dirty little house,” declared Aunt Retta. 
"One would never be sure what might not be lurking 

• • i) 

in it. 

Debby and Polly had been told that they must not 
go into old Anthony’s cottage, and this, of course, 
was just enough to make it a place of fascination to 
Polly. She walked by the little house and looked 
through the fence whenever she could, and she felt 
dreadfully sorry for old Anthony’s six or eight gaunt 


THE LITTLE HOUSE 


37 


cats, because they looked as if they did not have 
enough to eat. 

Debby in the attic, thinking about old Anthony, 
wondered if he had ever seen Great-grandmother 
wearing this little string of gilt beads. She clasped 
them around her slim neck, and ran to look in the 
broken old mirror that hung by one of the attic 
windows. She had piled her hair on her head this 
morning again, just for fun. Perhaps, thought 
Debby, as she looked at the mirrored reflection of the 
quaint little apron, the dark head and the bright 
beads, perhaps Great-grandmother had really been 
like that seventy years ago. She smiled to herself— 
perhaps she was a good reproduction, just as Eric 
Anderson had said, only not so pretty of course. 
Eric Anderson! Polly was too silly. One could surely 
talk with a man, without having him called one’s 
"boy friend” in that vulgar way. Polly must be 
spoken to. Why any one, even Aunt Retta, would 
have enjoyed talking to Eric—Eric Anderson. What 
made her keep thinking of him by his first name, 
when she had met him only once? Would he really 
show her sketch to his friend at the Columbian Mu¬ 
seum? Oh, she hoped that he would! How long 
would he stay at Bellport Harbor? Debby, full of 
day-dreams, turned impulsively to the window and 
looked out. 

Through the tree tops and across the meadow she 
could see the blue waters of Bellport River, really an 


38 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


arm of the sea, which stretched between shores lined 
with dark little spruces, down to Bellport Harbor 
on the open ocean—where Eric Anderson was. It was 
up this great river that Great-grandfather’s stately 
clipper ships had sailed home from foreign seas to the 
wharves of Bellport, and it might have been at this 
very window that Great-grandmother had some¬ 
times stood, in the little apron, and watched for the 
first sight of the big ship coming around the green 
point far down the river. 

Debby was recalled suddenly from clipper ships by 
the sound of Polly’s high little voice outside, some¬ 
where in the distance beyond the garden. Debby 
stepped closer to the window and looked through 
the trees. Yes, there was Polly, still in her Scout 
uniform, down on the road at the end of the garden, 
in front of old Anthony’s cottage. Close beside her 
Debby could see the red head and blue blouse of little 
Zabdiel Eaton. Both the children were bending down 
and putting their hands through the picket fence. 
Even at this distance Debby could see the tiny shapes 
of old Anthony’s cats jumping up against the other 
side of the fence. Though it was not Tuesday, Polly 
was evidently being helpful, for she and Zab seemed 
to be feeding the cats something through the fence 
—and Debby suspected that it was the sardines left 
from luncheon, which Aunt Retta had put away in 
the ice-box. Debby could also see old Minnie pinning 
towels on the rickety clothes line behind the cottage. 


THE LITTLE HOUSE 


39 


Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Debby noticed 
somebody coming in at their own gate below, and 
there was old Anthony himself, his basket of eggs on 
his arm, shuffling along the path toward the back 
door. 

Debby turned and ran back across the attic. 
Quickly she untied the little apron, and laid it and 
the other things away in the trunk—all except the 
gold beads, which she kept around her throat. Then 
she ran as fast as she could down the three flights of 
stairs to the kitchen door. Old Anthony was sitting 
on the bottom step, getting his breath, after the steep 
climb up the hill from the cottage. Debby thought 
that she had never seen anything so old and shrunken 
and forlorn. The worn coat had faded on his bent 
shoulders to a dismal green, and his long, unkempt 
hair straggled out from under his misshapen felt hat. 

"Have you some eggs for us to-day, Tony?” said 
Debby, coming out on the little porch. 

Old Anthony struggled to his feet, and turned and 
looked up at Debby, slowly nodding his head. 

"Wait,” she said, "Til get a bowl.” And she ran 
into the kitchen. 

When she came back old Anthony was vaguely 
counting over his eggs. Standing on the top step, 
Debby held the bowl, while with fumbling, un¬ 
certain fingers he put the eggs, one by one, into it. 
Then he set down the basket, and mutely held open 
the pocket of his old coat, while Debby dropped the 


40 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


coins into it. Just as he leaned to pick up his basket 
again— 

"Tony,” said Debby impulsively, bending down 
toward the old man, "you knew my Great-grand¬ 
father, didn’t you, Captain Israel Stebbins? You 
worked for him once? Do you remember my Great¬ 
grandmother too, who went to sea with him, and 
was lost ever so long ago? Do you remember what 
she looked like when she first came to live here?” 

Old Anthony put down his basket again, and 
looked up at the eager young face, with the dark hair 
piled high above it. He drew the sleeve of his coat 
across his watery little eyes, as if they could no longer 
bear anything bright and fresh. Then he slowly 
nodded his head, and looked at Debby again. 

"She was like that,” he mumbled, jerking his thumb 
at Debby herself. 

"Oh, was she!” cried Debby. "Was she really like 
me?” Then impulsively she put her hand to her 
throat. 

"Tony,” she said earnestly, "did you ever see my 
Great-grandmother wear a necklace around her neck 
—like these beads?” 

At the mention of the necklace old Anthony looked 
with his dull little eyes right into Debby’s bright ones 
again, and Debby thought, a little startled, that they 
no longer looked quite so dull. An odd, crafty look 
had come into old Anthony’s face. Still looking at 
her, he put a shaky finger to his lips. 


THE LITTLE HOUSE 


41 


"Sh—sh-h—don’t tell—sh!” said old Anthony. 

"What do you mean, Tony?” said Debby, as¬ 
tonished. "What is there to hush about?” 

The old man slowly shook his head and put his 
finger on his lips again. 

"Sh—sh—don’t tell!” he said. 

"Hello, Tony, there you are!” cried Polly, running 
in just then at the gate, with Zab at her heels. "We’ve 
been down at your house, and we’ve been feeding 
your cats some—” 

But Polly did not finish her sentence, for at that 
moment Aunt Retta, tall and majestic in her black 
afternoon gown, appeared at the kitchen door. 

"You would better go along now, Anthony,” said 
Aunt Retta firmly to the old man. "Give him his 
basket, Polly. And then come in and take off your 
Scout uniform. Did Aunt Nell tell you you might 
put it on this afternoon? I’m sure I didn’t. It is 
time for you to help her in the dining-room, and if 
you set the table nicely I shall let you give Isaak 
Walton the rest of the sardines for his supper.” 

Zab, who had just started down the path, turned 
with a scared look at Polly. But Polly seemed quite 
composed. 

"Thank you,” she said sweetly, as she followed 
Aunt Retta into the house, "but I think Isaak Walton 
would just as soon have milk.” 

Debby stood still on the porch, with the bowl of 
eggs in one hand, the other on the beads at her throat, 


42 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


looking after old Anthony, as his bent figure shuffled 
off along the path between the canterbury bells. 

"Come, Deborah, no more day-dreaming,” called 
Aunt Retta briskly from the kitchen. 

Why , thought Debby, as she turned toward the 
door, had old Tony said "Sh—sh!” And what mustn’t 
one tell about the beads? 



Chapter Three 

DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 

D ebby lay awake a long time that night after she 
went to bed, wondering what mysterious con¬ 
nection old Tony could have with the beads. There 
had been such a strange look in his blank old face the 
moment she had mentioned the little necklace, al¬ 
though he had hardly really looked at it at all. As she 
lay in the four-poster in the big square corner room, 
with the moonlight pouring in through the shadowy 
branches of the big elm outside, it all seemed more 
mysterious than ever. What could old Anthony have 
to do with anything belonging to the Stebbins? 

Aunt Nell had once shown Debby some interesting 
old papers from Great-grandfather’s desk, and among 


43 









44 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


them had been several quaint receipts from Tony 
Thorpe, indicating that Great-grandfather had from 
time to time paid the young man small sums of money 
for carpentry and odd jobs about the place. Debby 
remembered especially because Tony apparently had 
never been able to write, and had made a queer little 
cross on the paper instead of his name, while under¬ 
neath, in Great-grandfather’s firm, stately writing 
were the words: "'Anthony Thorpe: His Mark.” 
Debby remembered also that in the old captain’s 
diary, which Aunt Nell had once let her read, there 
had been several allusions to young Tony. She re¬ 
called one of them almost word for word. "Have just 
been to see poor Anthony Thorpe,” wrote Great¬ 
grandfather. "It is thought now that the lad will 
recover; but it is to be feared that his poor wits will 
be none the better for this grievous malady. We 
must do something for him, for he is a good lad, and 
faithful, though simple.” Great-grandfather had evi¬ 
dently taken a real interest in the unfortunate young 
man. But that was more than seventy years ago, and 
surely ninety-year-old Tony no longer knew any¬ 
thing of the Stebbins’ affairs. Debby, thinking of the 
sly, knowing look in his old face, shivered a little in 
the middle of the big four-poster, and drew the 
blanket a bit tighter about her in the moonlight. 
She had taken off the beads that afternoon, and slipped 
them into her pocket before she had come into the 
house. They were lying in her bureau drawer now. 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


45 


Tomorrow morning, thought Debby, before she 
put them away in the attic again, she would ask Aunt 
Nell about them. Aunt Nell was ever so much easier 
to talk to about things than Aunt Retta. 

And then before she went to sleep she thought 
again about Eric Anderson and her sketch of Great¬ 
grandmother’s portrait. It was only last night at 
supper that she had screwed up her courage to the 
point of telling Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell what she 
had done. Aunt Retta was always annoyed when she 
thought that any one was trying to pry into their 
family affairs. But this time astonishment had over¬ 
come any annoyance. 

"Thinks he can find out who painted the portrait 
after all these years?” Aunt Retta had exclaimed, 
her level brows raised. "I don’t believe it!” 

"He must really have thought your work very 
fine, my dear,” Aunt Nell had said, smiling across 
the table at Debby. Aunt Nell always did say the 
comfortable thing. 

"Then we could sell the portrait and be awfully 
rich,” had said Polly. 

Debby, as she turned over in the four-poster to go 
to sleep, smiled to herself when she remembered what 
this unfortunate remark had called down upon 
Polly’s head! 

As soon as she had dressed the next morning, Debby 
put the little golden necklace into her pocket again. 
But when she came downstairs, she found Aunt 


46 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Retta instead of Aunt Nell setting out the silver 
coffee urn, and Polly in the kitchen, struggling to 
make a piece of toast worthy of a Girl Scout. Aunt 
Nell was in bed with a headache. 

All through breakfast Debby debated with herself 
as to whether or not she should ask Aunt Retta about 
the beads. Aunt Retta, it was true, knew more even 
than Aunt Nell about family affairs. Everything con¬ 
nected with the Stebbins name was of the deepest 
concern to Aunt Retta. Once, up at the Academy, 
Debby had overheard jovial old Dr. Hill telling some¬ 
body that Henrietta Stebbins had been a handsome 
young filly when she was a girl, but that she had 
never married because she had never found a man 
who was willing to take the Stebbins name! It was 
difficult for Debby to imagine Aunt Retta as "a 
young filly,” but she was sure that she must have 
been very good-looking. Indeed, with her white hair, 
gray eyes under dark level brows, and distinguished, 
aquiline face, Henrietta Stebbins might still have 
been called handsome, but for the severe expression 
around the mouth. 

Debby, looking across the breakfast table, thought 
that this expression was a little more severe than 
usual this morning. It always annoyed Aunt Retta 
to have Aunt Nell sick. For all Aunt Retta’s as¬ 
surance that she was the head of the house, things 
never did go so smoothly when gentle, efficient Aunt 
Nell was not downstairs. 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


47 


As soon as breakfast was over, Debby took up Aunt 
Nell’s tray, and sent Polly, on rather unwilling feet, 
to make all the beds. 

"And remember,” called Debby from the foot of 
the stairs, "that trained nurses always make nice 
square corners when they tuck in their sheets.” 

"Hospitals don’t have four-posters with skirts and 
flounces and bolsters and pillow shams,” retorted 
Polly from the upper hall, "or they wouldn’t!” 

When Debby was sure from the sounds above that 
Polly was really moving about in Aunt Retta’s room, 
she went back into the kitchen and washed the break¬ 
fast things, as she always did. Before she had finished, 
she had made up her mind that she really must ask 
Aunt Retta about the golden beads. So when she had 
put the last cup away, and taken off her brown 
smock, she went down the hall, and through the door 
of the big drawing-room, which Aunt Retta always 
dusted herself every morning. Miss Henrietta did not 
like to have anybody else handle the beautiful frail 
Hepplewhite chairs, or the delicate Lowestoft and 
lustre ware that was set about on the tables and 
cabinets. 

But today Aunt Retta was not dusting. She was 
sitting at the fine old secretary by the window, evi¬ 
dently struggling with her accounts, for papers and 
bills were spread out before her, and there were two 
deep, anxious lines above her level brows. The Steb- 
bins’ accounts were very troublesome things these 


48 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


days. Debby saw at once that it was not a good 
moment to ask Aunt Retta about anything, and she 
was hastily turning away, when Miss Henrietta looked 
up. 

"Well, Deborah?” she said, her pencil poised. 

"Oh, excuse me, Aunt Retta,” said Debby, "I 
didn’t know you were busy. I—I just wanted to ask 
you something.” 

Aunt Retta made no reply, but continued to look 
at Debby with a questioning, preoccupied scowl. 

"I—I happened to find these beads in the attic 
yesterday when I was putting the dress away,” said 
Debby coming across the room, and holding out her 
hand, on which lay the necklace, "and I was—just 
curious to know about them.” 

"What!” cried Miss Henrietta as soon as she saw 
the beads, half rising from her chair, her look of pre¬ 
occupation gone in an instant. "Do you mean to tell 
me that you found those beads in our attic?” 

"Why—yes,” said Debby, a good deal startled. 
"Then—there is a mystery about them?” 

"Mystery?” echoed Aunt Retta, taking the little 
golden beads from Debby’s hand. "No, there’s no 
mystery. They were Aunt Nell’s. Only I supposed 
she had given them back forty years ago.” 

"Given them back?” echoed Debby. "Aunt Nell? 
Oh, I thought they were Great-grandmother’s. Were 
they somebody else’s?” 

Aunt Retta seemed not to hear what Debby said. 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


49 


She had regained her composure, and sat turning the 
beads over in her hand, evidently thinking of many 
things. 

"She must have put them away where she thought 
nobody would find them, and she wouldn’t have to see 
them again,” said Aunt Retta, more to herself than 
to Debby. 

Debby standing still by the old secretary, felt that 
she just must know more than this. 

"Had somebody given them to Aunt Nell?” she 
ventured. 

"Yes,” said Aunt Retta, with a little hard line about 
her mouth, still as if scarcely aware of Debby’s 
presence. "And a jilt he was if ever there lived one! 
Waiting until just three weeks before the wedding, 
and then writing that he thought they had made a 
mistake. How could she keep his beads, or anything 
that belonged to him! How could she!” 

"Oh,” said Debby. "He hurt her very much? Oh, 
poor Aunt Nell.” And she looked at the golden 
beads in Aunt Retta’s hand with a new and vivid in¬ 
terest. 

"When we are young and foolish we trust too 
much,” said Aunt Retta severely, looking at Debby, 
who stood before her wfith troubled face. "No man 
is to be wholly trusted.” 

"Oh, no, Aunt Retta,” said Debby, in quick protest. 
"Surely some can be, like Father or Great-grand¬ 
father, or,” she added, looking through the window 


50 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


at the square, brown house across the way, "'or the 
Judge.” 

Had not Aunt Retta trusted everything for years 
to the hands of Judge Parker, who lived just over the 
way, and knew almost more about the Stebbins’ affairs 
than Aunt Retta herself? It was Judge Parker who 
had made all the arrangements when Debby and Polly 
had come to live in Bellport three years ago, and had 
gone west to bring them home after their father’s 
funeral. The Judge was a little stiff and hard to talk 
to, but surely, surely he was a man to trust. 

“That is different,” replied Aunt Retta, rising 
briskly from her chair, and dismissing the subject, as 
one who has already said too much, but she still con¬ 
tinued to hold the beads. “I think,” she went on, 
“you will have to do the marketing this morning, 
Deborah. I will get Aunt Nell’s list from the 
kitchen.” 

While Aunt Retta went to make up the order, 
Debby put on her pink canvas hat, that matched her 
cheeks as well as it did her cotton gown, and took 
the string bag from the hook in the hall closet. Debby 
liked to go marketing on clear, sunshiny days, when 
Bellport’s main street was bright with the stands of 
plums and oranges and beets outside the small shops, 
and the river and meadows stretched away in a flash 
of blue and green at the end of the street beyond the 
wharves. Some day she would put all that gay, de¬ 
lightful color on canvas. It seemed to Debby that 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


51 


wherever she turned there were beautiful things 
to paint. And there was always eagerness in her 
fingertips, if only she could learn and learn and 
learn. 

But today as she went out the gate and down the 
hill, her mind was for once full of other things than 
line and color. She was thinking of what Aunt Retta 
had said. Little Aunt Nell in a romance! How 
strange and how exciting! What had the man been 
like? Had he been good-looking and friendly like— 
like Eric Anderson? And had Aunt Nell trusted him 
a lot? Of course you could trust some men. It was 
absurd of Aunt Retta to say you couldn’t. Debby 
lifted her head as she went down the street toward 
the markets. 

As soon as Aunt Retta had closed the screen door 
behind Debby and turned back into the house, she 
paused a moment in the hall and looked at the beads, 
which were still in her hand. Nell must not know 
anything about Debby’s finding them. She would put 
them away herself in the trunk in the attic the next 
time she went upstairs. Meanwhile, until she was 
through with her business with the Judge, she would 
leave them in that drawer in the hall table. Miss 
Henrietta walked over and pulled out the drawer. 
There to her surprise she saw a small box with an 
elastic band around it, just the right size for the 
beads. Quickly she opened the little box. 

“Ugh!” said Miss Henrietta, in horror. 


52 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


It was full of daddy-long-legs. Polly must really 
be spoken to again about her dreadful creatures. 

With a face of disgust, Miss Henrietta, holding the 
box at arm’s length, opened the screen door and 
emptied the poor cripples into a flower bed. Then 
having tapped the box against the side of the door, to 
make sure that it was quite clean, she dropped the 
beads into it, and put it hastily back into the table 
drawer. At that moment she saw Judge Parker walk¬ 
ing pompously up the gravel path, with his brief 
case under his arm. The Judge was coming by ap¬ 
pointment to talk over with Miss Henrietta affairs 
connected with those business papers that were spread 
out upon the old secretary in the drawing-room. And 
so serious was their talk, and so grave did the affairs 
turn out to be, that Miss Henrietta never once thought 
of the beads again for days—not indeed, until another 
serious, but quite different, affair recalled them to 
her mind. 

So absorbing, in fact, was Miss Henrietta’s call 
from the Judge that she did not even hear Polly, who 
had finished the beds, coming down the stairs just 
outside the drawing-room door. Polly was not sliding 
down the banisters this time. She was coming very 
quietly and discreetly on the stairs themselves, with 
Debby’s brown rain cape thrown around her bright 
blue dress, as a sort of camouflage. The hall wall¬ 
paper was also brown, and Polly hoped that the cape 
would make her less visible to Aunt Retta through 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


53 


the open door of the drawing-room, when she slipped 
around the newel post at the bottom. Polly did not 
wish to be seen just now, because if she were, she 
felt sure that she would have to go into the kitchen 
and scrape the carrots for dinner, and this was not 
Polly’s day for helpful deeds—at least not in the 
kitchen. She was on the way to her hospital, to feed 
her patients, and she had an appointment with Zab 
there immediately. Having slipped successfully 
around the newel post without catching Aunt Retta’s 
eye, Polly tip-toed into the kitchen and over to the 
ice-box. She took from it a bottle with about an 
inch of milk in it, which she hid under the rain-cape. 
Then she opened the screen of the back door, and 
ran quickly down through the garden. 

At the foot of the garden, in a clump of old lilacs, 
stood a decayed and weather-beaten summer house. 
It was close to the hedge that separated old Anthony 
Thorpe’s field from the Stebbins place, and was also 
somewhat set in from the road. It was a long time 
since it had been used by any one but Polly, and hidden 
as it was from sight, it was one of those things which 
Miss Henrietta and Miss Eleanor had, in their financial 
straits, allowed to fall into disrepair. But to the 
children it was a delightful spot, and it was here that 
Polly had set up her hospital. The circular seat that 
ran around the inside of the summer house was rather 
shaky, and the spongy old roof was green with moss, 
but the neglected woodbine had grown so thick over 


54 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


the openings between the pillars that there was al¬ 
ways a dim, green coolness inside, even on the hottest 
days, and an almost complete shelter from summer 
rains. Polly had hung a long old strip of green calico 
across the middle of the summer house, dividing the 
hospital into two rooms. On it in large card-board 
letters was the caption: WARD A. 

"Zab,” called Polly, running up, a little breathless, 
to the door of the hospital. "Oh, Zab!” 

She looked inside, but nobody was there, except the 
blue butterfly with a torn wing in a Mason jar on 
one side of the circular seat, and a faded goldfish 
swimming feebly in an old saucepan on the other. 
The goldfish’s tail suggested that it had been in a 
losing fight. There was also a wooden box on end, 
containing a bottle of Pond’s Extract, a roll of sterile 
gauze, a twisted tube of mentholated vaseline and two 
or three other remedies. Both the butterfly and the 
goldfish, however, looked as if they were beyond 
human aid. 

"Oh, dear,” said Polly aloud to herself, when she 
saw that Zab was not there. Zab had promised to 
bring something for the goldfish to eat, if he could 
coax it out of his siter Carol, who had a bowlful of 
fish herself. Polly pulled aside the curtain and went 
into the other ward of the hospital. Here there were 
a mangy kitten in an old bird cage, and a large, 
bulgy toad, sitting under a wire strainer, one of his 
front feet done up in a wisp of sterile gauze. Polly 


DEBBY ASKS AUNT RETTA 


55 


poured the milk from the bottle into a saucer and 
put it into the bird cage. Then she took a handker¬ 
chief out of the pocket of the rain-cape and untied 
a knot in the corner. Inside were six dead flies. She 
put them under the strainer for the toad, who blinked 
solemnly, and a little wearily, at Polly, and then 
closed his eyes again. The patient was apparently 
not doing well. Polly examined his foot, but she 
could not change the dressing without Zab to help, 
so she went outside to see if that delinquent was in 
sight. Zab was never on time. If he was late again, 
thought Polly, she should tell him that he could not 
be hospital orderly any longer. 

Polly walked out of the lilacs and across the grass 
to the street, and looked up the hill toward the Steb- 
bins mansion. She could just see the chimneys of the 
Eaton house beyond, but there was no Zab. Then 
she looked down the street, in the other direction, 
toward the town. Zab might have had to go on an 
errand. 

A little way down the street a car was parked by 
the roadside—a very snappy red and tan roadster. It 
was empty, but near it on the sidewalk, his back to 
Polly, stood a light-haired, broad-shouldered young 
man in white flannels. He was standing in a most 
extraordinary position, for one arm was thrown 
around a small tree, and the other hand was holding 
one of his feet, which he had raised from the ground. 
The young man did not appear to be happy at all. 



56 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Oh, my!” said Polly out loud, in a tone of antici¬ 
pation. 

For the young man looked exactly as if he might be 
a new patient! 



Chapter Four 

POLLY’S PATIENT 

P olly walked along the grass-grown sidewalk 
toward the young man, who continued to stand in 
the same position, holding his ankle. 

"Hello,” she said, coming up behind him. "Did 
you hurt yourself?” 

The young man let go his ankle and swung around, 
but he still held to the tree, and his face was twisted 
with pain. 

"Oh,” said Polly, as soon as he turned, "I know 
who you are— You’re Debby’s young man, but I’ve 
forgotten your name. What’s the matter?” 


57 









































58 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


He grinned faintly, in spite of his wry face. 

"But I’ve not forgotten yours,” he said. "You’re 
Polly who showed me the portrait. I seem to have 
given this beastly ankle a wrench.” 

Eric Anderson put his foot gingerly down on the 
sidewalk, while Polly watched intently. 

"Ouch!” he said, snatching the foot quickly up 
again, as soon as it touched the ground. 

"How did you do it?” asked Polly, crouching down 
and looking at the ankle with professional interest. 

"Must have stepped on a stone when I got out to 
look at the engine,” said Eric, rubbing his ankle again. 
"Funny—I was just on the way to your house. Do 
you happen to know whether your sister is at 
home?” 

"No, she isn’t,” said Polly, who had no interest in 
Debby at the present moment. "There’s some Pond’s 
Extract at the hospital. You’d better come and let me 
fix you. My hospital’s right over there.” And she 
got up and pointed to the clump of lilacs. 

"The deuce it is!” said Eric, grinning faintly again. 
Once more he very carefully put down his foot, and 
this time it did not seem to hurt quite so much, for he 
left it there, although he did not yet bear any weight 
on it. 

"If you put your hand on my shoulder,” suggested 
Polly, "perhaps you could walk to the hospital. You 
could sort of hop, you know.” 

"Ouch!” said Eric again, trying to take a step, and 


POLLY’S PATIENT 


59 


making a very wry face indeed. "Just lock the car 
for me please, will you?” he added. 

Polly felt very important indeed as she turned the 
key in the dashboard of the red and tan roadster. Then 
Eric put his hand on Polly’s shoulder, and somehow 
managed to hobble along to the summer-house, al¬ 
though not without stopping several times to hold his 
ankle and scowl at it. 

"This is the Emergency Ward,” said Polly, when 
Eric had at last hopped up the step and through the 
vine-hung door of the hospital. 

"Gee-whiz! It seems to be!” said Eric, looking at 
the saucepan and its occupant. 

"Oh, dear,” said Polly in dismay, looking too. 
"And it never had its dinner.” 

The goldfish, it was clear, was beyond both anticipa¬ 
tion and regret. It was floating on its side on top of the 
water, and was very pale indeed. 

"I suppose it will have to be buried,” sighed Polly. 
"And I shall make Zab do it,” she added, her small 
mouth as straight and severe as Aunt Retta’s. 

But Polly was always more interested in new pa¬ 
tients than in old, so in a moment she had told Eric 
where he must sit on the circular seat if he did not 
wish to break through. Then she went to her medicine 
shelf and took out her remedies. Kneeling on the floor 
of the summer-house in front of Eric, she rubbed the 
swollen ankle with the Pond’s Extract, and strapped it 
with the pieces of adhesive tape. Last of all she cov- 


60 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


ered it with a strip of sterile gauze. Eric, with amuse¬ 
ment and surprise, wondered how such small fingers 
could be so deft. Polly was herself rather proud of 
her technique. She wanted to use the mentholated 
vaseline too—it was such fun putting things on— 
but Eric, looking at the vaseline and then at his ex¬ 
cellent silk sock, decided against it. 

As soon as Polly had finished, Eric stood up and 
tried his foot. With the help of the adhesive tape, he 
could now bear a little weight on it. 

"Say, that’s great,” he said. "You’re a brick. I’m 
most awfully obliged.” 

"You’re welcome,” said Polly, her round black 
eyes very bright, her dark, thin little face full of 
satisfaction. People did not always take Polly’s pro¬ 
fession seriously. 

Eric put his hand in his pocket, and took out his 
bill-fold. Polly saw his name on it in beautiful gold 
letters. "Oh, yes,” she said, half aloud. It was such 
a nice name that she did not see how she could have 
forgotten it. Eric opened the bill-fold. 

"You must let me pay you for your services,” he 
said with a pleasant smile. "Even clinics charge a 
small fee, you know.” 

"Oh, no,” said Polly decidedly, clasping her hands 
behind her, as she stood in front of him. "I couldn’t 
do that.” And for a moment Eric thought that her 
sharp little face looked just as Debby’s soft oval one 
had looked that day in the studio, when she had said 



POLLY’S PATIENT 


61 


the very same words. There was certainly inborn 
pride in these Stebbins. They were quick to do a 
favor, but they would not take money for it. 

''Well,” said Eric, "I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll 
endow a bed at the hospital—for a patient who is not 
able to pay, you know. You must have one, haven’t 
you?” 

"Ye—es,” said Polly, still doubtful, "the kitten.” 
When there was no milk in Aunt Retta’s ice-box, 
Polly sometimes had to spend a week’s allowance to 
buy food for that forlorn patient. 

"That’s it,” said Eric. "I’ll endow the kitten,” and 
he opened the bill-fold, and took out a crisp green 
dollar. Then as Polly still hesitated, "No hospital in 
the country ever refuses endowments, you know.” 

Polly was not sure just what an endowment was, 
but she took the dollar. Then she drew aside the 
green curtain and showed Eric Ward A. This was a 
great concession, for nobody but Zab and Polly her¬ 
self had ever been admitted to Ward A. 

"I shall name the kitten Eric,” said Polly at once. 

"Gee whiz!” said E,ric again, looking at the bird 
cage. 

After they had made the rounds of the hospital, he 
and Polly went out of the summer-house again toward 
the car. Eric could limp along quite comfortably 
now with Polly’s help. 

"I’ll send the next accident case I run across right 
along here, you bet” said Eric, as he slid in behind his 


62 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


wheel. Then, as he slammed the door, "By the way,” 
he added, "would you mind taking a message to your 
sister? Please tell her I was most awfully sorry not 
to see her again, but that she will hear from me soon. 
I’m going back to town tomorrow.” 

"Oh, dear,” said Polly, with frank regret. She 
thought that Eric Anderson was the nicest man she 
had ever met. 

She stood on the sidewalk and waved her hand, as 
long as the red and tan roadster was in sight, and Eric 
waved back. When the car was lost to sight in the 
distant traffic of lower Main Street, Polly returned 
to the hospital to get the rain-cape. Then, with that 
garment over her arm, she walked slowly up the 
street toward the house, looking for Zab. She won¬ 
dered what could have become of him, for he was 
now more than an hour late. When she had almost 
reached the top of the hill she suddenly saw him, be¬ 
yond Judge Parker’s big square brown house, climbing 
over the low stone wall that separated the Judge’s corn¬ 
fields from the road. Zab apparently saw Polly at the 
same moment, for he stopped getting over the wall, 
and hastily slid down behind it again. Polly felt sure 
that Zab had been doing something that he ought 
not to have done. 

"I see you, Zab Eaton,” she called shrilly, "and 
there’s no use trying to hide. Come here. I want to 
say something.” 

After a moment the red head and blue blouse ap- 


POLLY’S PATIENT 


6 3 


peared above the wall again, and Zab began to climb 
slowly over. It was of no use to try to get away from 
Polly when she had once seen you. 

"Where have you been?” she demanded, crossing 
the street, and walking up in front of Zab, who stood 
by the stone wall, his eyes intent upon the toe of his 
sneaker, which was burrowing in the dirt. Though he 
did not look up, Polly could see that there was a 
guilty look on his face. "And why didn’t you come 
to the hospital?” she added. 

"Carol wouldn’t give me any goldfish food,” said 
Zab, still intent upon his sneaker. 

"The goldfish has passed away,” said Polly se¬ 
verely. "You’ll have to bury it. But why didn’t you 
come and help me with Edwin?” Edwin was the 
toad with the bandaged foot. 

"I went after a woodchuck,” said Zab, who seemed 
to want to divert the conversation from the hospital. 
"I think there’s a nest of young ones over there.” 
And as he spoke, he raised his head at last, and pointed 
into the Judge’s cornfield. 

Polly, interested in spite of herself, looked in the 
direction of Zab’s finger. 

"The Judge wouldn’t mind our getting them,” she 
admitted. "He’d like to have them cleaned out.” 

"There’s the Judge now,” said Zab, looking over 
Polly’s shoulder. 

Polly turned, and there, sure enough, was Judge 
Parker, just coming out of the Stebbins’ gate, with 


64 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


his brief case under his arm. He was looking down 
at the road in front of him, and paid no attention 
whatever to the children. But somebody else was 
waving to them from the path through the field, on 
the other side of the Judge’s house, and Polly saw 
at once by the pink dress that it was Debby. Leaving 
Zab standing by the wall, she went to meet her sister. 
Debby was taking the short cut home through the 
meadows, and was walking rather slowly, for the 
string bag was heavy with the marketing, and the day 
was warm. As she came nearer, Polly saw that her 
cheeks were pinker than ever, and that wisps of soft 
dark hair were straying from under the canvas hat. 
Polly sighed a little. Debby always kept on looking 
pretty, even when she was hot and tired and dis¬ 
ordered. But Debby did not look in a very good 
humor. 

"What are you doing with my best rain-cape, Polly 
Stebbins?” she said severely, as she came through the 
little stile from the field out upon the road. 

"Oh,” said Polly, who had entirely forgotten the 
rain-cape upon her arm, "I—I just wore it to the 
hospital in case it—it rained.” 

"There hasn’t been a cloud in the sky all the morn¬ 
ing,” retorted Debby. "You were carrying some mess 
for the animals away under it—I know that . You’re 
just to leave my good things alone after this. Do 
you hear me?” 

"I don’t want your rain-cape,” said Polly, un- 


POLLY’S PATIENT 


65 


daunted, putting it on top of the stile. ''And you’d 
better not scold, or I shan’t give you a nice message 
I’ve got for you.” 

"What message?” said Debby. "Something from 
Zab, I suppose.” 

"No,” said Polly, turning away from the stile, and 
starting across the street, her provoking nose in the 
air, "it’s a very special friend of yours, and I’ve just 
seen him and given him first aid.” 

"What do you mean, Polly Stebbins?” said Debby, 
picking up the rain-cape from the stile, and following 
Polly across the street. "I should think you might 
offer to carry a few of these things.” 

Polly was a good scout on the whole, and she really 
did want to tell Debby about Eric Anderson, so she 
turned at the gate, and took a bag of oranges out of 
Debby’s string bag. 

"Eric was on the way to see you,” she said, "and he 
wanted me to tell you he was going home tomorrow, 
but you should hear from him soon.” 

"Where did you see him?” demanded Debby, her 
back against the gate. "And how did he know I was 
out?” 

"I told him,” said Polly. "He turned his ankle 
just outside the hospital, so I did it up for him. I 
like him just as much as you do.” 

"Well, suppose you call him 'Mr. Anderson,’ young 
lady, not 'Eric,’ ” said Debby, still with some severity. 
But there was a smile about the corners of her mouth. 


66 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Then she opened the gate and the two girls went 
up the path between the mignonette and hearts-ease 
to the house. Polly turned under the portico and 
looked back at the street, but Zab had taken the op¬ 
portunity to vanish. What, thought Polly, had he 
looked so guilty about? 

The house seemed dim and cool, after the hot sun¬ 
shine outside. Debby, coming home tired from busy 
days at the Academy, always felt this refreshing quiet 
when she came into the wide hall. Not even Polly’s 
antics could disturb for more than a few minutes the 
peace of the old house. It was as if the many Steb- 
bins’ who had lived there in contentment and well¬ 
being still filled it with the sense of home that they 
had loved. And to Debby it seemed that it was Great¬ 
grandmother over the mantel-piece who was the real 
presence in the house, the source of all its friendliness 
and grace. She seldom passed the drawing-room door 
without looking in for at least a moment at the 
crimson gown, with the beautiful folds laid on by a 
master’s brush, at the rich carved chain of mystery, 
and at the aristocratic head above them. In spite of 
the formality of the pose and of the little hands laid 
primly together in the crimson lap, Debby felt that 
something forever gay and bright was looking down 
upon the old room. 

This morning, as the girls came in, the hall was 
full of fragrance from the bowl of Aunt Nell’s spicy 
garden pinks on the table. At the end of the hall, 


POLLY’S PATIENT 


67 


through the open door, Debby and Polly could see 
Jennie in the distance, rubbing up the silver cake 
basket. Jennie came in every day for several hours, 
to help with the dinner and to clean and polish. She 
was one of Polly’s special friends, with a pleasant 
interest in the hospital, and as soon as Polly saw her 
sitting at the kitchen table, she ran down the hall 
with the oranges. 

Debby, however, still holding the string bag, 
stopped for a moment at the drawing-room door. As 
she looked in, it was not the bright face over the 
mantel-piece that she saw first. Aunt Retta was 
sitting on the little old sofa with Aunt Nell, pale 
and evidently troubled, beside her. Debby was 
startled for a moment, as she saw how much the 
sisters resembled each other, for ordinarily she had 
not thought that they looked at all alike. Little Aunt 
Nell, to be sure, was typically a Stebbins, with aq¬ 
uiline features and level brows, but her face was 
softer and sweeter than Aunt Retta’s, her eyes were 
always kind, and her mouth never fell into severe 
lines. It was the sort of face that had been pretty 
rather than handsome in its youth. But today it 
looked as sober and troubled as Aunt Retta’s beside 
it, and one of Aunt Nell’s slender, delicate hands was 
pressed against her forehead. Debby wondered if 
Aunt Retta could have said anything about the little 
gold beads. 

"Oh,” said Debby impulsively, "is your headache 


68 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


worse, Aunt Nell?” There was always an instinctive 
sympathy between Aunt Nell and Debby. Then, as 
neither of her aunts spoke, but merely looked at her 
with solemn faces— "Is—is anything the matter?” 
she said. 

Aunt Nell glanced at Aunt Retta. 

"Close the door, please, Deborah,” said Aunt Retta. 

When Debby had done so, she came across the 
room toward her aunts with a questioning face. 

"Since you have asked, I suppose we may as well 
tell you now, Deborah,” said Aunt Retta. "You are 
a grown-up girl and sensible. I have just this morn¬ 
ing had a long talk with Judge Parker about our 
affairs, and he tells me that a number of our in¬ 
vestments have stopped payment, perhaps perma¬ 
nently, and that we shall have to cut down expenses 
substantially —very substantially. I don’t know yet 
just what we can do, but it will mean the strictest 
economy, if we are to get on—here.” 

There was silence for a moment, while Debby 
looked at her aunts, as sober now as they. 

"It doesn’t mean, does it, that—we shall have to 
go somewhere else,” she faltered. 

"Oh, no,” said Aunt Retta hastily, but not quite, 
Debby thought, with her usual firmness. "But we 
must look to every penny. The first thing we must 
do is to let Jennie go.” 

"Not have Jennie at all?” said Debby, with quick 
apprehension of what that would mean to her two 


POLLY’S PATIENT 


69 


aunts in this high old house of great rooms and many 
stairs. 

"No,” said Aunt Retta. "We shall manage with¬ 
out her. You, Deborah, will be able to help on Satur¬ 
days, and it is time that Polly learned many things.” 

As she spoke, Aunt Retta got up from the sofa 
with her usual briskness, and took the string bag 
from Debby. 

"We will talk more of this, Nell, when you are 
feeling better,” she said. "You would better go back 
to bed now. And please close the secretary for me, 
Deborah. I shall go and give Jennie her week's notice 
now.” 

And with this Aunt Retta walked with firm step 
across the drawing-room, opened the door, and went 
off to the kitchen. 

Debby sat suddenly down on the sofa beside Aunt 
Nell. 

"Indeed, I am so sorry,” she said, as she put her 
arm across Aunt Nell’s shoulder, "so very sorry.” 

And Debby herself hardly knew whether it was 
most for the headache, or the worries—or the broken 
romance of long ago. As she thought of the man who 
had run away and left his golden beads behind him, 
Debby’s mouth looked just a little like Aunt Retta’s. 
Then, with a characteristic toss of her head— 

"Come upstairs, Aunt Nelly dear,” she said, "and 
I shall fix you all comfy.” 





Chapter Five 

TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE? 

T he days that followed were very busy ones indeed 
in the old Stebbins mansion. Aunt Retta liked 
nothing better than to organize a new situation, and 
once she had made up her mind to an era of drastic 
economies, she really seemed to enjoy seeing how well 
it could be managed and put systematically on its 
new basis. Debby was assigned to this task and Polly 
to that, everybody’s wardrobe was examined, to see 
how it could be made over for the winter, and a period 
of canning set in that bid fair to stock the Stebbins 
shelves for months to come. 

While Aunt Retta organized, Aunt Nell went 
quietly about the added work, her delicate cheeks 
pink from long hours over the preserving kettle, her 
deft, slender fingers cutting and stitching on made- 
over garments. Polly was to have had a new coat in 


70 



TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 


71 


the fall, but now something must be managed out of 
Aunt Nell’s old ulster. Polly did not mind about 
the new coat, but she thought it a waste of valuable 
time when she had to sit on a chair indoors, ripping 
the long dark seams of the ulster. But even this was 
better than scalding the garbage can on Saturday 
morning. 

"I’m sorry,” said Polly/ on the first Saturday with¬ 
out Jennie, looking up at Aunt Retta with her funny 
little tilted nose. Polly’s unfortunate nose always 
made her seem saucy, even when she did not feel that 
way at all. "I’m sorry, Aunt Retta, but I have an¬ 
other engagement for today.” 

"What!” said Aunt Retta, looking straight at 
Polly, with brows very level. 

"Yes,” said Polly, swallowing just a little, but still 
unabashed. "Miss Hopkins said she’d give me fifty 
cents if I’d help her wait on counter Saturdays, and 
I thought you’d like me to be a bread winner just 
now.” Miss Hopkins was a most respectable little per¬ 
son who kept a thread-and-needle shop on lower Main 
Street, and there was nothing to be said against her 
as a companion. "But,” added Polly, as Aunt Retta 
continued to look severe, "I suppose I can give Zab 
five cents of it for doing the garbage can.” 

"Well, we’ll see about that,” said Aunt Retta, still 
outwardly stern, though inwardly pleased at Polly’s 
enterprise. She was a real Stebbins, thought Miss 
Henrietta with satisfaction. 


72 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


As a matter of fact, Polly was already almost as 
accomplished a manager as Aunt Retta herself. 

"Now that Jennie isn’t coming,” said Debby to 
Polly, "you will have a chance to show how good a 
Scout you are. Even if you don’t like kitchen work, 
we’ve just both got to help Aunt Nell.” 

"Oh, yes,” agreed Polly, skipping off without a 
word to make the beds. 

But as the days went on, it was noticeable that 
whenever there were potatoes to be peeled, Polly 
somehow managed to be very busy hunting joyously 
for beetles in a shady part of Aunt Nell’s garden, 
and when there was a preserving kettle to be scoured, 
she was deeply engaged in putting away the laundry. 
Polly liked to put away the laundry. The linen sheets 
felt so nice and smooth, and smelled so pleasantly of 
hot irons. 

She had almost finished putting it away one morn¬ 
ing, and was going back and forth as slowly as pos¬ 
sible between the clothes basket in the sewing room 
and the linen closet at the end of the hall, in order to 
make this pleasant duty last a long time, when Miss 
Henrietta opened the door of her room and came out. 
She looked toward the linen closet in surprise. 

"Didn’t I hear Aunt Nell call you, Polly,” said 
Aunt Retta, "to go down and wash the spinach?” 

"Yes,” said Polly at once, with her rare and rather 
crooked little smile, "but—but you see I like to help 
you sometimes, too, Aunt Retta.” 


TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 


73 


Miss Henrietta took her glasses out of their case 
and adjusted them to her nose. Then she came over 
to the linen closet. 

"Are you sure, Polly, that you have put the fresh 
towels and pillow slips at the bottom of the piles?” 
she enquired, looking in. 

"Well —some of them,” replied Polly, who was al¬ 
ways truthful. 

"I think you would better take them out again, and 
put them in right,” said Aunt Retta. "I hope, Polly, 
that I shall not have to remind you about that again. 
Where is Deborah?” 

"I think she is down in the workshop,” replied 
Polly, clasping a large pile of sheets to her flat little 
chest with one hand, while with the other she pushed 
the three fresh ones into the shelf. 

"And as soon as you have finished, you are to go 
down to Aunt Nell,” said Aunt Retta, as she stepped 
briskly down the hall. 

When Miss Henrietta reached the foot of the stairs, 
she saw her older niece just coming in through the door 
that led to the back hall and the little workshop. 
Debby had a letter in her hand, and her dark eyes 
and sensitive face were excited. She stood still, how¬ 
ever, when she saw her aunt. 

"Aunt Retta,” she said, hesitating a little, "Fve 
just had such a surprising letter—from Mr. Anderson, 
who was here Community Day, you know, and took 
my sketch of Great-grandmother’s portrait. He says 


74 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


that he has shown it to several people, and they all 
think that I might be able to get a scholarship at the 
Art School!” 

"Really!” exclaimed Miss Henrietta, taking the 
letter from Debby’s hand, that trembled a little, and 
reading it with swift eyes. '"Why, Nell,” she said, 
turning to her sister, who at that moment came out 
of the drawing-room. "Here’s a letter saying very 
complimentary things about Deborah’s picture of 
Mother, and suggesting that she apply for a scholar¬ 
ship at the Columbian Museum of Fine Arts.” 

Debby, her face full of color, her eyes very bright, 
looked over Aunt Nell’s shoulder at the letter. 

" 'A number of people here at the Museum have 
seen your sketch,’ ” read Aunt Nell, " 'and they all 
agree with me that you have unusual talent. A new 
scholarship of $400 has just been given to the Museum 
for next year, and I am writing at once to urge you 
to apply for it. This scholarship carries with it special 
work under Mr. Stephen Homans, one of the best of 
our younger portrait painters. The school begins 
November first, and continues through the middle 
of June. I am enclosing an application blank. If you 
decide to apply, as I earnestly hope you will, you 
should send me other samples of your work as soon 
as possible. The Museum also, as a matter of form, 
requires two references, and likes if possible a per¬ 
sonal interview with candidates—but that can be ar- 


TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 


75 


ranged later. I cannot urge you too strongly to make 
this application. Perhaps I should not say it, but I 
think you would stand a very good chance. The 
tuition is $300 for the year, and you will be able to 
find satisfactory living quarters near the school at 
a reasonable rate. I should be glad to be of any service 
I can.—And the Museum should thank its lucky stars 
that I was clever enough to find the sketch—and 
you! 

"Faithfully yours, 

" 'Eric Anderson.’ ” 

"Faithfully yours,” repeated Debby to herself. 

"Why, child!” said Aunt Nell, her face as full of 
smiles as Debby’s own. "I had no idea that your work 
was so good. We’re proud of you. It’s a great mu¬ 
seum, and this would be a splendid opportunity.” 
And she quickly put her hands on Debby’s shoulders 
and kissed her. 

Miss Henrietta, however, continued to look soberly 
at her niece. 

"Of course it would be an opportunity, and Deb¬ 
orah works hard and well,” she said. And Debby felt 
a little thrill, for Aunt Retta’s words of praise were 
few and far between. "But she must not set her 
heart on this thing yet. Even if she won the scholar¬ 
ship, four hundred dollars would not cover all her 
living expenses for the year, and the new clothes she 
would have to get, and I am sure I don’t see, as things 


76 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


are now, where we could possibly raise the differ¬ 
ence.” 

"And it would mean that we shouldn’t have my 
salary from the Academy, wouldn’t it?” said Debby 
thoughtfully, the first flush of happiness gone from 
her face. 

"We could manage without that,” said Aunt Nell 
quickly. "We did before you and Polly came. You 
must not think of that, Debby.” 

"But you had more income then, and besides, you 
did not have Polly to take care of,” said Debby, with 
the clear look in her eyes that always came when she 
had something hard to face. 

"You needn’t bother about me,” said a high voice 
above them. "I can get along all right. Miss Hopkins 
said I was smarter already than her other girl. And 
anyway, Zab and I are going to keep hens and sell 
eggs.” 

And there at the top of the stairs was Polly, her 
nose more tilted than usual. 

"Polly,” said Miss Henrietta, "how many more 
times shall I have to tell you that you must not be an 
eavesdropper.” 

"But I think it’s fine about Debby,” said Polly, 
skipping down the stairs. "She’s my sister, and I want 
to know things.” 

"There is nothing to know yet, Polly,” said Aunt 
Retta. "Not even whether it will seem best for 
Debby to apply. We must talk this all over later, 


TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 77 

when I have had time to think about it.” And with 
this, Miss Henrietta turned into the drawing-room, 
leaving the others still standing in the hall. 

"And I probably shouldn’t win, even if I tried,” 
said Debby with a sigh, as if speaking to herself. 

"We will do everything we can, my dear, to help 
you. I am sure you know that,” said Aunt Nell, 
reading, with instant sympathy, all the bitter disap¬ 
pointment which Debby was trying so hard to keep 
out of her face. 

"I’ll let you have my fifty cents every Saturday,” 
said Polly. "That is, if I don’t have to pay it to Zab 
for doing the garbage can.” 

When Aunt Nell and Polly had gone off to the 
kitchen, Debby went back to her little studio, and 
stood by the red-curtained window, looking out into 
the garden, which was already bright with zinnias 
and the first fall asters. She still held Eric’s letter in 
her hand, and her face was sober, but her mind was 
busy with plans. She simply could not give up this 
great opportunity. She must try for it anyway, and 
if she won surely somehow they could find a way to 
meet expenses. Of course she could not ask Aunt 
Retta for more money. She knew well enough that 
she had none to give. Already back in the spring the 
beautiful old high-boy had had to be sold, in order 
that some necessary repairs of long-standing might be 
made about the house. 

Debby had never forgotten how Aunt Retta had 


78 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


looked that evening when the high-boy had gone 
away. Aunt Nell and Debby had been alone in the 
drawing-room when the expressmen had come to the 
door, and Aunt Nell, opening it, had tried her best 
to get the high-boy quietly out of the house, and thus 
spare her sister its final going. Aunt Nell had loved 
it too, but it was Aunt Nell’s way to face things 
quietly and by herself if she could. Aunt Retta’s 
sharp ears had heard the truck, however, and she had 
come downstairs at once to superintend the moving 
of the crate, and to pay the expressmen. Debby 
could still see the stricken look on Aunt Retta’s stern 
face, as if a member of the family were being borne 
away. When the door had been closed behind the ex¬ 
pressmen, Aunt Retta had gone up the stairs without 
a word, and had shut herself into her own room for 
the night. No, thought Debby, not even for Art 
School could she let that happen again. 

There by the window she re-read Eric Anderson’s 
letter— "—I cannot urge you too strongly to make 
this application— I think you would stand a very 
good chance— I shall be glad to be of any service I 
can. And the Museum should thank its lucky stars 
that I was clever enough to find the sketch—and 
you!” 

She smiled a little as she turned from the window. 
There was ever a buoyancy about Debby, part of her 
warm impulsive self, that made it impossible for her 
to feel for long the heavy weight of disappointment. 


TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 


79 


It was instinctive with Debby to believe that there 
must somehow be a way to happy things, and to find 
that way. "Dreams-come-true Debby,” Aunt Nell 
often called her. 

Debby knew Aunt Retta well enough to feel sure 
that she would not consent to any application for the 
scholarship until they knew where the necessary 
money was coming from. As she looked about the 
bare little studio, she wondered if there were any¬ 
thing of her own that she could sell. Before Debby 
and Polly had come to live in the old house, this had 
been a sort of store-room, where kitchen supplies 
were kept—the flour and sugar barrels, and the 
potato sacks against the walls, the fruit and preserves 
on the shelves in the corner. Debby had made it into 
a little work-shop for herself, by shoving the barrels 
into a corner, and bringing down a few pieces of dingy 
furniture from the attic, but it still looked poor and 
bare. A large drawing-table that stood beside Debby’s 
easel by the window, two chairs and the old rep cur¬ 
tains were all that the room contained, except the 
fine old sea-chest that replaced the barrels against the 
wall, and the jellies that still lined the top shelf. 
Debby loved the jellies when the afternoon sun shone 
in from the garden. They seemed to her like a string 
of jewels along the shelf—ruby and amber, like 
Great-grandmother’s mysterious chain. 

Debby walked across the little studio, and sat down 
on the old sea-chest. Her forehead was puckered into 


80 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


an anxious line, seldom seen on Debby’s face, and her 
hands, spread out on either side, fingered restlessly the 
words of the old carving: 

"WHERE THY TREASURE—” 

What treasures had she, thought Debby. People some¬ 
times sold jewels, she knew, when they had to have 
money for something right away, but she had no 
jewels—except the jellies in the afternoon sunshine. 
There was the cameo set, to be sure, that had come 
from her mother’s family. That was not a Stebbins 
heirloom, and would, therefore, mean nothing to Aunt 
Retta, though she had once called it a "wonderfully 
beautiful thing.” But after all, Debby doubted 
whether cameos had much of any money value. 

Suddenly she sat up very straight on the old chest. 
"Where thy treasure”—but of course, the chest itself 
was her one real treasure. Eric Anderson had called it 
a "fine piece.” Perhaps it was really valuable—perhaps 
it could be sold! And now Eric had offered to be of 
service to her—those were the very words in his 
letter, "I shall be glad to be of any service I can.” 
Would he, could he sell the sea-chest for her? Debby’s 
heart skipped a beat as she thought of it. It seemed to 
her for a moment that she would sacrifice anything 
she had, even the chest, for the chance to go to Art 
School. 

She got up quickly and turned searching, critical 
eyes on the old chest. As she looked at it now it seemed 




TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 81 

to her more rough-hewn and unpolished than ever, 
though tanned and softened by the passing years. 
Probably Aunt Retta was right; there was not much 
real value to it. Great-grandfather’s skilful hands 
had made many other finer things—like the ship model 
under its glass case in the dining-room, which Aunt 
Retta showed with pride to every visitor. But the 
carving on the top of the chest was beautiful, and 
different from anything Debby had ever seen. All at 
once she turned away from it. No, she could never 
sell it! It was Great-grandfather’s, and she loved it 
too well. Of course she could not give it up. She 
must find some other way. 

But what possible way was there? Even if she 
could somehow raise the money to go to the Museum, 
how could they ever manage now at home without 
the help of her salary from the Academy. She was 
to have had two dollars more a week this next year, 
and that would buy lots of things. Perhaps she could 
even put some of that extra money away toward her 
expenses at Art School—but that, of course, would 
mean going next year instead of this. It would be 
hard to wait, but one had to wait for lots of things, 
Debby knew. Somehow—some time, there must 
be a way. Standing still beside the old chest, she 
sighed a little. 

Then suddenly she turned away from it with a 
little laugh. What a day-dreamer she was, to be sure! 
Why, she had not even applied for the scholarship 


82 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


yet, and there might be dozens ahead of her. And 
even if she won it, perhaps it would not be available 
for her another year. With one of her quick impulses 
she ran out of the room and across the hall to the 
kitchen. She must ask Aunt Nell right away about 
this. She just could not wait to know if Aunt Nell 
thought that there would possibly be a chance an¬ 
other year. 

But Aunt Nell was not in the kitchen. There was 
only Polly, in Debby’s smock that came down to her 
heels, standing on a small stool in front of the sink, 
vigorously sloshing the spinach around in a pan of 
water. A sprig of that vegetable was stuck jauntily 
over each of her ears, and she was singing "A-wearnT 
of the green” at the top of her lungs. Her back was 
toward the door, but Polly always seemed to have 
eyes in the rear of her head, and she stopped singing at 
once and turned around. 

"Hello,” she said, as soon as she saw Debby in the 
doorway, "I know something. Aunt Retta and Aunt 
Nell are in the south parlor talking it all over, and I 
think Aunt Nell will make Aunt Retta sell another 
heirloom, because I heard Aunt Nell say they never 
used something and it was worth two hundred 
dollars.” 

"You were eavesdropping again, Polly Stebbins,” 
said Debby severely. 

"No, I wasn’t,” retorted Polly. "I just accidentally 
knocked the screen out of the pantry window, and I 


TO ACCEPT OR TO REFUSE 83 

had to go round and pick it up—and I could hear 
them just as plain inside.” 

Dear little Aunt Nelly, thought Debby, as she 
turned back into the hall. She, too, was always trying 
to find a way to happy things. 

"You can finish the spinach,” called Polly. 

"No, I can’t,” said Debby. "I have some drawing 
sheets to fix.” The fall term at the Academy would 
indeed soon be opening. 

Debby walked back into the little workshop, her 
mind still busily turning over every possibility con¬ 
nected with the scholarship. She went to the table 
by the window and opened the portfolio of drawing 
sheets. On top lay an unfinished charcoal sketch, on 
which she had been working last week. It should have 
been labelled "Youth and Age,” for side by side on 
the paper were two heads, roughly blocked in. That 

at the left was erect and youthful, set upon shoulders 

* 

strong and broad. The face was still a blank, but 
Debby knew well enough whose face was to be filled 
in, if only she could draw it from memory. The other 
head drooped upon slouching shoulders, old and 
weary, and the face, already drawn with a few bold 
strokes, was unmistakably that of Anthony Thorpe. 
Debby held the sketch at arm’s length, and partly 
closed her eyes. Yes, she had really caught old Tony’s 
expression. Then for a moment even thoughts of the 
scholarship went out of her mind, and she opened 
her eyes wide and stared at the sketch she had made. 


84 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Why—she had somehow caught the very expression 
of sly mystery that Tony had had the day when he 
came with the eggs and saw the gold beads on her 
neck. She had forgotten the beads for the last few 
days, but now the question rushed back upon her. 
What could have made old Tony act so queer about 
them? 


Chapter Six 

DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 

T he next morning there was a family conference in 
the south parlor. Debby was rather sorry that it 
was not in the drawing-room, for then she could 
have sat and looked at Great-grandmother’s portrait 
while Aunt Retta talked. There was something so 
serene and so far removed from the vexations of life 
in Great-grandmother’s way of looking down upon 
her descendants, that Aunt Retta’s decisions always 
seemed less irrevocable when they were given under 
those bright understanding eyes in the portrait. 

But the south parlor was, after all, the most home¬ 
like and informal room in the house. It was directly 
across the hall from the drawing-room, and while it, 
like all the rest of the house, was furnished with 
beautiful old things, it had about it a cosy sense of 
being lived in, and of being as close to disorder as 
any Stebbins’ room was ever likely to be. Aunt Nell’s 
large open work-basket stood on a spindly little table 
in the side window, there was music scattered over the 
old grand piano in the corner, and Isaak Walton was 


85 


86 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


usually to be found curled up in the wing chair by the 
fireplace. It was the one spot in the house from 
which he was seldom driven. Even Aunt Retta had 
been known to take another chair rather than to dis¬ 
turb Isaak Walton. 

On this particular morning he opened one eye as 
the family came walking in directly after breakfast, 
and surveyed them in evident surprise. As a rule, 
nobody had leisure at this time of the day to sit down 
in the wing chair. But as soon as he saw that they 
were really coming across the room, he tucked his 
nose still farther into his gray paws, and pretended 
to the deepest slumber. Such tactics were to-day, 
however, of no use at all. Isaak Walton was peremp¬ 
torily pushed out of the wing chair by Aunt Retta, 
who sat down in it herself. Aunt Nell and Debby 
settled themselves on the little sofa on the opposite 
side of the fireplace, and Debby lifted the very ruffled 
Isaak into her lap. 

"Aunt Nell and I have been talking this all over, 
Deborah,” began Aunt Retta, "and we do not see 
how we could possibly finance your expenses at the 
Art School for the present, unless we sold some more 
of our old furniture. We both feel that this might 
be a great opportunity for you, and that we should 
try to plan for you to take advantage of it. You 
seem to have real talent, and you have a right to 
share in what there is in this old house, because you 
are a Stebbins.” 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 


87 


Miss Henrietta paused for a moment, and Debby, 
though she did not look up from her lap, where Isaak 
Walton had gone to sleep again under soothing hands, 
knew that Aunt Retta was sitting up very straight 
and proud, as she always did when she talked about 
the Stebbins. 

"But I do not feel that even Aunt Nell and I have 
the right to do as we please with what is here in the 
house,” continued Miss Henrietta. "I consider that in 
the main we are just custodians. These are Stebbins 
heirlooms, and they should go down in the family. 
We have already had to sell four or five pieces in the 
last two years, as you know, but they were all rather 
personal property, like Aunt Nell’s sewing table. I 
don’t think we should dispose of any more without 
taking your Aunt Martha’s children into account. 
They are both Stebbins’ too, although their name is 
Jones.” Aunt Retta’s tone implied that this was a 
calamity, but Aunt Retta was just, and "once a 
Stebbins always a Stebbins” was the rule that she 
lived by. She never forgot the claims of George 
and Althea Jones, although they lived in the West, 
and were being brought up in a Jones environ¬ 
ment. 

"I am sure I don’t want you to sell anything more, 
Aunt Retta,” said Debby, looking up at last with 
clear eyes, directly at Miss Henrietta. 

"I have always felt that the old wardrobe in my 
room was a personal thing, too,” ventured Aunt Nell 


88 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


quietly. "Aunt Sophie gave it to me herself, you 
know. I am perfectly willing to let that go for—for 
Debby.” 

"No, Nell,” said Miss Henrietta, turning upon her 
sister with decision. "I do not feel that Aunt Sophie 
intended that as a personal gift at all. She meant you 
merely to have the use of it during your life-time. I 
remember distinctly reading a letter of hers among 
Father’s papers, saying that as she had no children, 
she wanted all her valuable things to come to us, 
as family possessions. I have every reason to think 
that Aunt Sophie must have had unusually strong 
family feeling.” 

Miss Henrietta, very straight in the wing chair, 
looked more inflexible than Debby had ever seen her, 
and Aunt Nell said no more about the wardrobe. 

"Please don’t let’s talk about the old furniture any 
more, Aunt Retta,” said Debby in a low voice. 
"Probably it is not worth while for me to apply any 
way.” 

"Not at present, I believe,” agreed Aunt Retta, in 
a tone of finality. "But Aunt Nell tells me that you 
have suggested putting off any plan for the Museum 
for a year. That really seems to me the only sensible 
way out of the dilemma. Now I have this proposal 
to make. If you will teach one more year at the Acad¬ 
emy I think we can manage to let you put aside half 
your salary for your expenses in the city another 
season. You are young yet, and twelve months will 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 


89 


soon pass. Meanwhile you can make application for 
a year from this fall.” 

"But how could we get along even then here at 
home without my money?” said Debby, who was 
always ready to face realities, for all her day-dream¬ 
ing. 

"We shall contrive some way for that,” said Miss 
Henrietta proudly. "One can always manage to save, 
if one is given a little time for it.” 

There was silence for a moment. Then— 

"I suppose that is the only way,” said Debby, a 
baffled look on her eager young face. It was hard, 
hard to wait, and to eighteen, a year is a very long 
time. 

"I am sure,” said Aunt Nell, her hand on Debby’s 
on the sofa, "I am very sure, my dear, that you will 
stand an even better chance of winning a scholarship 
another year.” 

"Shall I go and write to Mr. Anderson now?” said 
Debby, setting Isaak Walton on the floor, and rising 
quickly from the sofa. Unpleasant things should be 
done at once and put behind one. 

"I think that is the best plan,” said Aunt Retta, 
rising also from the wing chair. "Come into the 
drawing-room, Deborah, and I will help you to 
compose a letter. I think I know better than you 
what should be said.” 

So Debby followed Miss Henrietta across the hall 
and stood by the old secretary, looking over Aunt 


90 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Retta’s shoulder while the following was drafted, 
with a swift hand, on a pad of paper: 

My dear Mr. Anderson, 

Your kind letter has been received, and I am 
deeply grateful for your interest, and for the 
suggestion about the scholarship, which sur¬ 
prised us all greatly. I only wish that I might 
accept at once this unusual opportunity for 
study, but conditions at home make it impossible 
for me to leave at the present time. ("It is better 
taste, Deborah,” said Miss Henrietta, pausing 
a moment and looking up, "not to speak of money 
matters to a stranger.”) It might be (continued 
Aunt Retta’s pencil) that another year I should 
be in a position to go to the Museum. May I take 
the liberty of asking if scholarships would still 
be available at that time? 

With earnest appreciation of your interest, 

Sincerely yours, 

"Now Deborah,” said Miss Henrietta, tearing the . 
paper she had written from the pad, and handing it 
to Debby, "if you will copy and sign this, we can 
mail it at once. Mr. Anderson should have a prompt 
answer.” 

"Thank you, Aunt Retta,” said Debby mechan¬ 
ically, and she took the paper and went off down the 
hall to her workshop. Even her little studio, when 
she came into it today, seemed to her as dismal as 
she felt. The sun never shone there until afternoon, 
even on the brightest days, and on this overcast 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 


91 


morning the scant furnishings looked more shabby 
and dull than ever, and there was dust on the jellies. 
Debby sat down at the table by the window, took pen 
and paper out of the drawer, and began her first 
letter to Eric. 

Dear Mr. Anderson (she wrote), 

Your kind letter has been received, and I am 
deeply grateful for your interest— 

How exactly like Aunt Retta that sounded, thought 
Debby, looking at it, her pen poised above the paper. 
With a faint shrug of her shoulders, she went on, 
making the same sure strokes with her pen that she 
made with her brush—a real Stebbins hand, said 
Aunt Nell, like Great-grandfather’s. 

Debby finished copying the letter and signed it— 
"Very sincerely yours (not, just "sincerely”), Deb¬ 
orah Stebbins.” She was just on the point of sealing 
it into its envelope, when with a sudden impulse she 
unfolded it again. "Indeed,” she wrote at the bot¬ 
tom of the sheet, "I do thank you very, very much. 

D. S.” 

Then quickly she put the letter into the envelope, 
stamped it and ran out to the mail box. 

In the week that followed Debby watched for the 
mail man with an eagerness that almost surprised her¬ 
self. She did not know just what it was she expected, 
but she hoped very much that Eric Anderson would 
answer the letter. From the window of her room 


92 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


on the third floor she could see Henry Gill, the rural 
free delivery man, from the moment that his old Ford 
began to rattle up the hill toward the Stebbins 
mansion, and whenever she was at home at mail time 
Debby was there watching for him, so that she might 
go out at once to the gate. From the windows on the 
first floor she could not see so far down the hill—and 
besides, she did not want Polly to notice her interest 
in the mail box. One had to be very circumspect in¬ 
deed, however, to escape that young person’s sharp 
eyes. 

'Til bring you his letter as soon as it comes,” said 
Polly to Debby toward the end of the week, "so you 
needn’t watch where Aunt Retta won’t see you.” 

"I don’t know what you mean, Polly Stebbins!” 
said Debby, indignantly, if not quite truthfully. "I 
have nothing to conceal from anyone.” 

"Well, I’ll bring it anyway, before they see it. It 
will count for a kind deed,” said Polly, mindful of 
her Scout obligations. But the days went on and there 
was nothing interesting in the mail box for Polly to 
bring. 

One afternoon when Debby was in her little studio, 
sorting drawing papers at the table by the window, 
there was a loud clang of the front door bell, that 
fairly echoed through the house. It was the ring of 
someone unused to the tempers of the old bell-pull, 
and it startled Debby. The door into the hall was 
open, and she listened intently to hear who should 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 


93 


speak when Polly opened the front door. There was 
silence for a few moments, then the jangly sound of 
the bell again in the kitchen. Suddenly Debby re¬ 
membered that Polly had been sent on an errand, and 
that Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell had spoken of making 
a call that afternoon. She must be alone in the house. 

Quickly Debby rose from her chair, and ran out 
into the hall, and past the stairs toward the front 
door. Through the ground glass of its upper lights 
she could see a waiting figure, broad-shouldered and 
tall. She opened the door. There on the other side of 
the screen stood Eric Anderson. 

"Oh,” said Debby, utterly astonished at this un¬ 
expected visitor, "it’s you!” Then, ready to bite her 
tongue for being so inane, she turned the handle of the 
screen door. "Won’t you come in?” she said. 

There was on Eric’s face as he came into the hall 
the same delightful mixture of gravity and gaiety that 
she remembered so well, and he smiled as if he were 
most awfully glad to see her. Debby was indeed very 
good to look at, in her brown frock, with the glowing 
cheeks and fluffy hair above it. Eric put his hat on 
the table. 

"I began to think the house was empty,” he said, 
"but luck was with me.” 

"My aunts are not in,” explained Debby, as she 
led the way into the drawing-room. 

"I’m sorry,” said Eric Anderson politely, if not at 
all sincerely, "But, after all, I believe it’s you I want 


94 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


to see. Please don’t tell me, Miss Stebbins,” went on 
Eric, going characteristically straight to the point, 
"that you meant what you said in your letter.” 

Debby had sat down on the little sofa, expecting 
Eric to take the opposite chair, but he stood before 
her, with the expression of one who expects an 
answer, and Debby felt somewhat confused and at 
a disadvantage. 

"I’m afraid I did,” she said. 

"But you mustn’t,” said Eric, looking down at her 
in great earnestness. "Don’t you know what a gift 
you have?” 

"It isn’t that I—don’t want to try for it,” said 
Debby. "But—well, it seems best for me to stay at 
home this winter. Probably,” she added, looking up 
with questioning eyes, "there will be scholarships an¬ 
other year?” 

Eric Anderson hesitated in surprise. 

"Of course,” he said. "But indeed you must try 
for it now,” he added almost imperatively. "This 
scholarship is designed especially for those interested 
in portrait work. It would give you just what you 
want. Please promise me that you will send in that 
application as soon as possible.” 

Debby was thrilled, but she felt strangely speech¬ 
less. How could she tell Eric Anderson that they were 
too poor to pay even the cheapest board for her, or 
to buy the few clothes that she would need to go 
away from home. It suddenly came over her, as she 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 


95 


looked across the large, richly furnished room, that 
he must suppose that they were a well-to-do family. 
It seemed as if he read her thoughts. 

"I am a very outspoken person, Miss Stebbins,” 
said Eric Anderson, "and you may not like what I am 
going to say, but it seems as if a great deal were at 
stake. Do you—won’t you tell me—is it a question 
of money?” 

For a moment there was silence in the room. Debby 
sat very still, trying with all her might to keep that 
wretched color from coming into her face. She knew 
that she must say something, for she felt that Eric’s 
eyes were upon her, though she did not look up. But 
before she could think what she should say, he spoke 
again. 

"I’m sorry,” said Eric gravely, "that is not my 
business, I know, but—well, it is my business to get 
you to the Art School. And—by George—I’m going 
to!” 

At the unexpected determination in his voice Debby 
suddenly looked up and laughed. 

"You’re a very managing person, Mr. Anderson,” 
she said. "I believe you could even give points to 
Aunt Retta!” 

"See here,” said Eric, turning away from Debby, 
and walking toward the mantel-piece, "that’s only one 
of the things I came here for.” 

"Yes,” said Debby, "how did you happen to come? 
I thought you were in the city.” 



96 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"I was, 5 ’ said Eric, '"but my mother and sister are 
still at Bellport Harbor, you know, and I ran up for 
the week-end, to see them—and you and the por¬ 
trait. For I think your sketch may have given us a 
possible clue to the painter. There is a line and pose 
in it that suggests just one man.” 

"Really?” said Debby, getting up from the sofa, 
and following Eric across the room, where he was 
already looking searchingly at Great-grandmother. 

"Do you suppose you could get me a stool or an 
old chair that I could stand on,” said Eric. "If 
this was done by Forsythe Brown, as we believe it 
was, we shall find a certain characteristic signature 
on it.” 

"There’s the wood-box,” said Debby, pointing to 
the little sea-chest, that in cold weather was full of 
logs. 

Together they moved the chest to the hearth, di¬ 
rectly under the portrait. Then Eric got up on it, 
and took a flashlight and a small magnifying glass 
out of his pocket. With the glass at his eye, and the 
flash making little circles of vivid crimson on Great¬ 
grandmother’s gown, he went back and forth across 
the bottom of the portrait, examining every inch of 
it with the greatest care, while Debby below looked 
up and held her breath. 

"If it’s a real Forsythe Brown,” said Eric, "we may 
find his identifying mark rather far up on the canvas. 
That is why it is so often missed.” 



Examining every inch of it with greatest care 

























98 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


There was tense silence for a few minutes, while 
the spot of light crept along, almost up to Great¬ 
grandmother’s folded hands. Suddenly Eric leaned 
forward, with his glass even closer to the canvas. 

"We can’t have a little more light, can we?” he 
said. 

Debby quickly switched on the lights at either side 
of the mantel. 

“There it is!” he cried. “As sure as I’m standing 
here, that’s Forsythe Brown’s mark, right there below 
the hands, in that dark fold of the gown— F.B., with 
the periods like small crosses. From the floor it all 
melts into the portrait. By George! What a find! 
Get up here and let me show you.” 

Eric held out his hand, and Debby jumped quickly 
up on the wood-box beside him. With their heads 
close together they examined the precious mark. They 
were so excited and intent on what they were do¬ 
ing that they were quite unaware that Polly had come 
into the hall, until they heard her voice. 

“It’s only Debby’s Mr. Anderson,” called Polly to 
some friend outside. Then she looked in through the 
drawing-room door, and saw the two figures up on 
the wood-box. “What are you doing there?” said 
Polly, with eyes very wide. 

“We’re just looking at the signature on the por¬ 
trait,” said Debby, jumping down from the wood-box. 
But Eric turned from the canvas only long enough to 
wave to Polly. 


/ 


DEBBY RECEIVES A CALL 99 

'"Hello, Florence Nightingale,” he said. "How’s 
my namesake getting along?” 

"He’s almost well,” said Polly. Then she looked 
at Debby. "Do you want me to tell you when I see 
Aunt Retta coming home?” she asked. 



Chapter Seven 

NOT FOR SALE 


W hen Polly had gone off down the hall, Debby 
sat down on the wood-box. 

"What does it mean?” she said, looking up at Eric, 
who stood before her. Her face was eager, and her 
hands were clasped tightly in her lap. "Is he a great 
painter?” 

"Forsythe Brown was a pupil of Watts,” said Eric. 
"He was a very great painter indeed. Some say that 
if he had lived he might even have surpassed his 
master. But he died when he was twenty-five.” 

"And he knew all that about color!” said Debby 
in wonder. "He could finish a portrait like that 
when he was only a little older than I am!” 

100 


t 








NOT FOR SALE 


101 


"His finished works are very rare,” said Eric. "He 
apparently had a way of beginning canvasses and 
then not finishing them, before he went on to some¬ 
thing else—a restless sort of genius. If he had only 
stuck to his work, he would have been known around 
the world, even at twenty-five. That picture is prob¬ 
ably only the second finished canvas of his in this 
country. The other is in the Metropolitan in New 
York.” 

"Oh,” said Debby, under her breath, turning a little 
and looking up at Great-grandmother. But Eric con¬ 
tinued to look at Debby, as if he found the real face 
the more interesting. 

"Then—then I suppose it is very valuable,” she 
said, turning back to Eric. 

"Yes,” said Eric gravely. "It is.” 

There was a moment’s pause. 

"Of 'course you understand, Miss Stebbins,” he 
continued, "that I am in no position at present to tell 
you how valuable it is. Perhaps I should not say any¬ 
thing at all just now, but—well, I feel sure that you 
may count on the Columbian Museum making an 
offer for a genuine work of Forsythe Brown.” 

"You mean they will offer to buy the portrait?” 
said Debby, startled, her face all at once full of 
color. 

"I shall be surprised if they do not,” replied Eric 
Anderson. 

Debby suddenly stood up. 



102 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"But we couldn’t sell it— ever!” she said, almost 
fiercely, like a true Stebbins. "It’s Great-grand¬ 
mother. It’s—it’s the finest family thing we have.” 

"Sometimes things are so rare, aren’t they, that 
they are more than family heirlooms,” ventured Eric 
quietly. "What we call museum pieces.” 

"Oh, no,” insisted Debby, standing tall and straight 
between Eric and the portrait, as if she would protect 
Great-grandmother from marauding hands. "It be¬ 
longs to us. Aunt Retta wouldn’t think of selling it 
—and I shouldn’t either.” 

"Perhaps when I have had an opportunity of talk¬ 
ing it over with your aunt—” began Eric. 

"Oh, but you mustn’t speak to Aunt Retta about 
it—not now,” interrupted Debby. It suddenly came 
over her that perhaps Aunt Retta would suspect her 
of trying to sell the portrait, in order to go to Art 
School. "You mustn’t offer her money for the por¬ 
trait. Indeed you mustn’t. It would upset her dread¬ 
fully.” 

Once more it seemed as if Eric Anderson read her 
thoughts. 

"It might be more money than she would feel 
justified in refusing in—in these times,” he said, look¬ 
ing searchingly at Debby. 

"Great-grandmother is not for sale, Mr. Ander¬ 
son,” said Debby, with all the cool dignity of Aunt 
Retta, looking at him with clear eyes. 

His grave young face broke suddenly into one of 


NOT FOR SALE 


103 


the gay smiles that had surprised Debby on that first 
day when he had walked into her little studio. 

"Let us sit down a minute,” he said. 

There was something so quietly commanding about 
Eric Anderson that Debby found herself sitting down 
on the wood-box again. Eric took the opposite chair. 

"Won’t you tell me about your great-grand¬ 
mother?” he asked, leaning forward, his hands clasped 
loosely between his knees. "Was she really as beauti¬ 
ful as the portrait?” 

"Oh, yes,” said Debby. "At least, I think so. She 
used to go to grand parties with Great-grandfather 
when they touched at foreign ports, and in one of his 
old letters he calls her 'the belle of the ball.’ Great¬ 
grandfather was captain of a big clipper ship,” she 
added in explanation. 

"I see,” said Eric. "That’s how she happened to be 
painted in London. Perhaps also that’s how Forsythe 
Brown happened to finish this particular portrait. 
Your great-grandfather wanted to bring it back with 
him in the clipper ship.” 

Eric Anderson studied the beautiful face over the 
mantel, so strangely, he thought, like the young face 
opposite. 

"There is so much gaiety, so much spirit in it,” he 
said, "I can well believe that everybody adored her.” 

"Yes,” said Debby, "I’m sure they did.” 

"Had you ever thought,” suggested Eric after a 
minute, looking back at Debby, "that your great- 


104 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


grandmother loved all that adoration. Every beautiful 
woman must. I daresay she dreaded sometimes the 
return voyage to the little Maine village.” 

"Perhaps she did,” agreed Debby, with a flicker 
of a smile, wondering just where the conversation was 
leading. "Bellport is a little dull sometimes.” 

"You would feel sorry then, wouldn’t you,” said 
Eric, looking right into Debby’s eyes, "to have one of 
the world’s beauties condemned to spend the rest of 
her life in a little coast town.” 

"Why—yes,” said Debby, a bit doubtfully. 

"Then don’t you see,” said Eric with great earnest¬ 
ness, "that it would never be a question of 'selling 
Great-grandmother?’ It is not really a money matter 
at all. If a great museum should offer her a place on 
its walls, you would just be giving her the opportunity 
to let the world adore her again. Here in Bellport 
only a very few people can ever see her face, but 
there she would be once more 'the belle of the ball.’ 
She would just be going back into the world that she 
loved, and that I am sure she conquered. She would 
be safe forever from fire and every other disaster, and 
she would be so cherished that her beauty would never 
be lost, and generation after generation would walk 
by and think how lovely she was. Great-grandmother 
would simply be coming into her own at last.” 

While Eric was speaking Debby sat as if spell-bound 
on the wood-box. She had never heard any one talk 
just that way. There was a persuasiveness, a pleasant 


NOT FOR SALE 105 

reasonableness, about him that made one believe in 
spite of oneself. 

"Perhaps,” she said, as Eric paused. "But still, I 
know that Great-grandmother will never leave this 
house. And indeed you must promise me that you will 
not speak to Aunt Retta about it—just now.” 

"I am afraid that I cannot promise that,” said 
Eric. "When I report that there is another genuine 
Forsythe Brown in this country, the matter will of 
course be in the hands of the museum.” 

Eric took out his watch and rose hastily. 

"Mother and Edith are waiting for me at a place 
down the road,” he said. "I shall have to run along 
now. But you will remember what I have tried to say, 
won’t you,” he added, looking earnestly at Debby, 
"and you will not give a final answer about the scholar¬ 
ship until you have thought it over a little longer? 
I shall be back at the Harbor next week-end with 
Mother. Will you let me come to see you again then?” 

"I am afraid I should not have any different answer 
about the scholarship,” said Debby evasively. For 
the moment it was fun not to let Eric Anderson know 
how much she hoped that he would come again. 

Just then there was a prophetic voice from some¬ 
where upstairs. 

"There’s Aunt Retta coming up the walk now,” 
announced Polly, true to her word, "but I don’t see 
Aunt Nell.” 

Debby, following Eric toward the hall, glanced 


106 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


across the room at the front window. Aunt Retta was 
not visible, but there in the embrasure of the window, 
on the velvet of the very best Chippendale chair, 
Debby saw Isaak Walton, sound asleep. Isaak Walton 
was strictly forbidden to lie on that particular chair, 
and the last time that he had been found on it, Aunt 
Retta had declared that if he ever got up into it again, 
he should be permanently banished to the kitchen. 

Now Isaak Walton was Debby’s special pet, so she 
ran hastily down the long room, to pick him up be¬ 
fore Aunt Retta should come in. As she turned toward 
the hall again, with the bunch of gray fluff under her 
arm, she saw that Aunt Retta had already opened 
the screen door and was looking in surprise at Eric, 
who had just picked up his hat from the hall table. 

"Oh, Aunt Retta,” said Debby, coming into the 
hall, and putting Isaak Walton on the floor. "This is 
Mr. Anderson—my aunt, Miss Stebbins. I am not 
sure whether you saw each other on Community Day.” 

"How do you do,” said Aunt Retta, in her stiffest 
manner, not offering to shake hands with Eric, who 
bowed, also a little stiffly. 

"Mr. Anderson came to look again at Great-grand¬ 
mother’s portrait, Aunt Retta,” explained Debby, 
somewhat taken aback by Miss Henrietta’s manner, 
"and he says that it was done by a famous painter, 
Forsythe Brown, and has real value.” 

"Brown?” said Miss Henrietta, her level brows rising 


NOT FOR SALE 


107 


a little. "We have of course always known that the 
portrait was valuable.” 

There was a moment of embarrassing silence, dur¬ 
ing which Debby stared in astonishment at her aunt. 
Miss Henrietta continued to look coldly at Eric, who 
stood holding his hat. 

"I must thank you, Mr. Anderson,” she said in a 
cool voice, "for writing about the scholarship. I am 
sorry that my niece cannot take advantage of it. 
Good afternoon.” And with these words, Aunt 
Retta walked into the drawing-room. 

Debby followed Eric to the door. 

"Goodbye,” she said, almost without looking at 

, 

him, her cheeks flaming. Aunt Retta was often stiff 
enough, but Debby had never known her to be down¬ 
right rude, like this—and to Eric. 

"May I come next week?” he asked again, a little 
doubtfully. 

"Yes,” said Debby, her eyes very bright. And she 
held out her hand to him. So angry was she with Aunt 
Retta, that she did not know at all how eager that yes 
had been. 

As soon as she had closed the screen door behind 
Eric, Debby turned toward the stairs. She felt that 
she could not see Aunt Retta again just then. But 
before she could make her escape she heard Miss 
Henrietta’s voice in the drawing-room. 

"Deborah,” called Aunt Retta. "Come here a 


108 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


minute, please, and help me to move back this wood- 
box.” 

"I’m sorry,” said Debby in a low voice, coming into 
the drawing-room, and taking hold of one of the 
handles of the box. "We forgot it.” 

"I’m sure I don’t know why that young man should 
come snooping around here,” said Miss Henrietta, 
as they set the box back where it belonged. 

"Mr. Anderson was not snooping,” said Debby, 
very erect before her aunt. "He came to look at the 
portrait because he is an expert. And besides, he 
wanted to tell me that he—was sorry about the 
scholarship.” 

"He could have done that quite as well by letter,” 
said Aunt Retta. "I don’t care to have young men 
that we don’t know examining things in this house.” 

"But we do know him,” said Debby with spirit. 
"He comes from a great museum.” 

"Well, I don’t care for his type,” said Aunt Retta. 

"What do you mean, Aunt Retta?” said Debby, her 
hands clenched very tight behind her. 

"We won’t talk about it any more just now, Deb¬ 
orah,” said Aunt Retta. "When you go into the 
kitchen, will you please see if Polly put the butter in 
the ice-box.” 

Debby walked very fast into the hall, but she did 
not go toward the kitchen. She felt as if she were 
going to cry, and Aunt Retta must not see her in 
tears. All her life it had been only anger that could 



NOT FOR SALE 


109 


make Debby cry. Through the bumps and bruises 
of childhood people had looked at her rueful, tear¬ 
less face, and said what a brave little girl she was. It 
was not the Stebbins tradition to cry when you were 
hurt. Even when her father died, Debby had looked 
out upon her changed world with eyes that were sad 
and startled, to be sure, but quite dry, though her 
father had been her dearest friend. 

But her resentment flamed quickly at small injus¬ 
tices and cruelties. The hot, angry tears that sprang to 
her eyes at trivial misunderstandings often surprised 
even Debby herself. And it seemed to her that Aunt 
Retta could touch that sore spot within her with a 
surer hand than any one else she knew. Aunt Retta 
and Polly, on the other hand, got along famously to¬ 
gether. Polly had no sore spots, and all Aunt Retta’s 
rebuffs slipped from her as water from a duck’s back. 
Aunt Retta, on her part, though she was often severe, 
rejoiced secretly in Polly’s rebounding spirit, and 
thought sometimes that she would be the truest Steb¬ 
bins of them all. 

Debby, as she ran up the stairs struggling with her 
tears, felt very angry indeed. What right had Aunt 
Retta to speak to Eric Anderson in that way—and 
practically to dismiss him from the house, as if he 
had been a—a—book-agent? It was unbearable to 
have one’s friends treated like that. Any one could 
see, just by looking at him, what Eric was like. But 
then Aunt Retta never did see the real point. 



110 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


With a little sob, Debby stumbled over the top 
step, and ran down the hall to her room, blinded by 
the tears that would not be repressed. When she came 
to her own door, she was surprised to see through the 
door across the hall that Aunt Nell was sitting by her 
little sewing-table. When she had seen Eric’s car out¬ 
side, she must have come in by the side entrance 
through the studio, and gone up the back stairs. Aunt 
Nell was as shy at times about meeting people as 
Debby herself. They had much in common, these two, 
and in the summer they enjoyed being close together 
in the big airy front chambers on the third floor, al¬ 
though when winter came they moved down to the 
warmer second floor with Aunt Retta and Polly. 

Aunt Nell looked up from her work when she heard 
the steps in the hall, as if she had been waiting for 
Debby’s coming, but Debby, with averted head, 
walked directly into her own room, without a word. 
She had intended to fling herself down on the bed, and 
take what comfort she could in angry tears, but now 
she merely sat down by the open window. Throwing 
back her head to the breeze, she wiped her eyes and 
tried resolutely to compose her face. She was sure 
that very soon Aunt Nell would speak to her, and so 
it was. 

''Debby,” called the pleasant, soft voice from across 
the hall, "if you are not busy, will you come here a 
moment, please.” 

"In just a minute, Aunt Nell,” Debby called back, 


NOT FOR SALE 


111 


in a tone that she was afraid sounded queer and 
muffled. 

She stood in front of the mirror, and dabbed her 
eyes with cold water from a glass on the bureau. 
Then she walked across the hall into Aunt Nell’s room. 
Miss Eleanor, looking up, searched Debby’s face for a 
moment in evident surprise. Aunt Nell must suppose 
that she had been crying about Art School, thought 
Debby with a little pang. And Aunt Nell’s words 
confirmed her fears. 

"Debby,” she said, ignoring, however, all signs of 
tears, for Aunt Nell never probed sore spots, "I have 
been thinking over what we could possibly do about 
the scholarship. Aunt Retta is right, of course, about 
the family heirlooms—but I have something quite my 
own that I know is valuable. It has—nothing what¬ 
ever to do with Aunt Retta or anybody else in the 
family, and I am very sure we can sell it.” 

"Oh, no, Aunt Nelly,” said Debby. "I couldn’t have 
you sell any treasures of your own. I just couldn’t.” 

"I shall not sell anything that I care to keep, my 
dear,” said Aunt Nell, with a little hesitation. "I 
shall never use it again, and I have kept it for many 
years—too many, I think. It will be much better to 
dispose of it—if it is worth what I am sure it must be.” 

How pretty she was, Aunt Nelly, thought Debby, 
sitting there in her lilac dress, her brown eyes and 
white hair and pink cheeks almost as fair as Debby’s 
own. Debby hoped that she would look just like Aunt 


112 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Nelly when she should be sixty-five. Just now there 
was an odd expression, half determination, half re¬ 
gret on Miss Eleanor’s gentle face. 

"That’s sweet of you, Aunt Nelly dear,” said Debby, 
putting her hand affectionately on the shoulder of the 
lilac dress, "but indeed, you mustn’t dispose of any¬ 
thing.” Then as her mind went back to Aunt Retta, 
she added, with a flash in her brown eyes, "You have 
little enough to call your own, as it is.” 

Miss Eleanor got up quickly from the little sewing- 
chair. 

"Come,” she said, with a briskness that was un¬ 
usual to her, "we will go and get it now. It is put 
away, but I know just where to find it.” 

And Debby, wondering and still protesting, fol¬ 
lowed Aunt Nell out into the hall, and up the steep, 
narrow stairs to the attic. 



Chapter Eight 

A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


A unt Nell, on her knees in front of the trunk in 
the attic, took out the old Paisley shawls and laid 
them, with other treasures, carefully on the chair be¬ 
side her. 

"It is at the bottom of the trunk,” she said, lifting 
out the precious crimson dress, which Debby had 
worn on Community Day. 

"Oh!” said Debby, who stood beside the trunk. 
With a startled gesture she put her hand to her face. 
She had guessed what Aunt Nell was looking for. 
It was the golden beads—all that was left of the poor 
little romance of long ago. "Oh, no, Aunt Nelly, you 
mustn’t sell them!” said Debby quickly. 

But Aunt Nell, intent upon the trunk, did not 
seem to hear. She pulled aside the old cloth at the 
bottom, and picked up the little pink apron. Debby, 
feeling dumb and helpless, watched Aunt Nell rise 
from her knees, shake out the apron and put her hand 
into the pocket. 


113 




114 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Why, it’s not there!” she said, turning to Debby 
with a surprised face. 

"Oh, Aunt Nell,” said Debby, hardly knowing in 
her confusion what to say, "I—I happened to find it 
one day, and I showed it to Aunt Retta and—and she 
took it.” 

"Aunt Retta took the beads?” repeated Aunt Nell, 
as if she did not understand. 

"Yes,” said Debby. "She—she said they were yours, 
and I thought she was going to put them back where 
I found them.” 

Then stumblingly she told Aunt Nell what had 
happened—how she had taken the beads downstairs 
because she had thought that they were Great-grand¬ 
mother’s. But although she did not repeat a word 
of what Aunt Retta had said of the old love affair, a 
spot of crimson came into each of Aunt Nell’s delicate 
cheeks as she listened, and Debby thought that she 
had never seen her gentle aunt so upset. 

"We will go down and find Aunt Retta,” said Aunt 
Nell, as soon as Debby had finished. 

In silence, Debby helped to lay the things back in the 
old trunk. Then miserably she followed Aunt Nell 
down the three long flights of stairs. Debby had no 
desire whatever just now for another interview in the 
drawing-room. She was sure that Aunt Retta was in 
no mood to talk over the sale of anything, even the 
gold beads. Besides, she would be sure to think that 
the suggestion had come from Debby herself, and it 



A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


115 


was not easy, even at the best of times, to explain things 
satisfactorily to Aunt Retta. 

They found her sitting at the secretary in the 
drawing-room. She looked up as they came hurrying 
into the room, evidently astonished to see her quiet 
sister in such agitation. 

''Henrietta, 5 ’ said Aunt Nell, going directly to the 
point, "I cannot find my gold beads in the attic— 
the ones in the old trunk. Debby says that you took 
them. Did you put them somewhere else ? 55 

It was now Aunt Retta’s turn to be startled. 

"Your gold beads ? 55 she repeated, rising from her 
chair, and looking uncertainly at her sister. 

Debby had never before seen Aunt Retta look un¬ 
certain, and she was a little shocked to find what a 
pleasant thrill it gave her. There was, indeed, both 
uncertainty and confusion on Aunt Retta’s usually 
unmoved face, for it was many years since there had 
been any mention between them of anything con¬ 
nected with the old love affair. Aunt Retta looked at 
Debby, and then at Aunt Nell, and then back at Debby 
again, as if trying to recall something. 

"You brought them in here, didn’t you, Deborah ? 55 
she said at last, collecting herself. "Yes, I remember 
now. It was the morning the Judge came about our 
affairs, and I have never thought of the beads since. 
I put them in the drawer of the hall table in a little 
box, intending to take them upstairs later.” 

As she spoke, Aunt Retta went hastily across the 


116 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


room into the hall, followed by Aunt Nell and Debby. 
They were just in time to see Polly’s slim legs dis¬ 
appearing hastily around the curve of the stairs. 
Miss Henrietta pulled out the drawer, and they all 
peered eagerly in. It was quite empty, except for a 
small mud turtle, with a crushed foot, which in the 
sudden light scuttled as best it could toward the back 
of the drawer. 

"Ugh!” said Aunt Retta, in disgust, "I simply 
will not stand any more of Polly’s creatures around. 
Put it out, Deborah, please.” 

The turtle had for the moment broken the tension, 
and Debby, overwrought by all that had happened, 
hardly suppressed a hysterical laugh, as she opened the 
screen door, and dropped the turtle into the bushes. 
But when she turned back into the hall, the words 
that she heard made her instantly sober again. 

"But what has become of the beads?” said Aunt 
Nell, blankly, still looking into the drawer. 

"I cannot imagine,” said Aunt Retta, her level 
brows drawn together, as she turned over in her mind 
the various possibilities. "Nobody has been in the 
house but ourselves for over a week, and the screen door 
is always hooked. Perhaps Polly knows something 
about it.” Polly, she recalled, had been making a hasty 
exit when they came into the hall. But on the other 
hand, Polly was very honest, and never took things 
that did not belong to her—except occasionally to 
feed her animals. "Oh!” said Aunt Retta suddenly, 


A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


117 


raising her brows, and turning to look at Debby. 
"That young man who was here this morning! He was 
in the hall by himself when I came in.—And Eleanor,” 
continued Miss Henrietta, turning to her sister, "I re¬ 
member now—he was shutting that table drawer in a 
hurry just as I walked in. I noticed it at the time, and 
I didn’t like the looks of it. He seemed the sort of 
person who takes liberties with other people’s prop¬ 
erty.” 

While Aunt Retta was speaking Debby had stood 
perfectly still and very straight, facing her aunts, her 
back against the banisters, her eyes dangerously 
bright. 

"You mean, Aunt Retta,” she said, "that you think 
Eric Anderson took those beads out of the drawer— 
that he is a thief?” 

"I must say it looks to me very much like it,” re¬ 
plied Aunt Retta. "Why should he be opening drawers 
in other people’s houses unless he was looking for what¬ 
ever he could find? I must say that after I had seen 
that, I was thankful when the screen door closed be¬ 
hind him.” 

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the 
sound of a creak on one of the upper stairs around the 
curve. 

"Mr. Anderson is not a thief,” said Debby, in a 
tense voice, looking straight at Aunt Retta. "And you 
have no right to call him that. He—he is one of the 
most honorable people I ever met.” 


118 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Well, Deborah/’ said Miss Henrietta, obviously 
taken aback by this unexpected burst of feeling, "I 
think you are forgetting yourself. I am sure I don’t see 
why you should so rush to the defence of a total 
stranger. He may be all right, but what do you know 
about him? What do any of us know about him?” 

"We know that he came from the Columbian Mu¬ 
seum—one of the greatest in the country,” said Debby 
in a low voice, biting her lip. 

"I liked his appearance,” said Aunt Nell, trying as 
usual to pour oil on troubled waters. "As Debby says, 
a representative from such a place would hardly be— 
a thief.” 

"I don’t know about that,” said Aunt Retta firmly. 
"There are crooks everywhere. And after all, how do 
)ve know that he is a representative of the Columbian 
Museum. He simply walked in here on Community 
Day and made himself at home. I never did believe 
it was a good plan to throw our houses open that way 
to every Tom, Dick and Harry. And I certainly don’t 
trust any man,” added Miss Henrietta with emphasis, 
looking at her sister and niece in turn. 

"Aunt Retta,” said Debby, in a muffled voice, 
"you’re not fair, and you’re not telling the truth. 
Mr. Anderson is no more a thief than you are—and 
—and I won’t listen to you another minute.” And 
turning, Debby fled up the stairs, almost falling in her 
blinding tears over Polly, who was sitting entranced 
on the top step. 



A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 119 

Miss Henrietta and Miss Eleanor, still standing by 
the open drawer of the hall table, looked at each 
other. 

“Deborah has never spoken to me like that before,” 
said Miss Henrietta austerely. “I think she should 
apologize. I never knew a Stebbins with a violent 
temper except Cousin Jonathan. I hope that Deborah 
is not going to be another Jonathan.” 

“She has been greatly tried and disappointed about 
the scholarship, sister,” suggested Miss Eleanor. “She 
will be sorry for her quick words. Debby is a dear 
child.” 

“She is a Stebbins,” conceded Miss Henrietta, “but 
she has her mother’s impulsiveness.” Then she looked 
down at the open drawer, and her brows contracted 
again. “I feel perfectly sure that those beads are in 
the young man’s pocket.” 

Miss Eleanor shook her head, “No, sister,” she said, 
“I cannot believe that.” 

“Well, I can,” said Miss Henrietta with decision. 
“Where else could they be? And I certainly propose 
to get them back!” As she spoke, she glanced up 
through the banisters. At the very top of the stairs 
a pair of sneakers was on the point of vanishing. 

“Polly,” called Miss Henrietta, in no uncertain voice, 
“come down here, please.” 

The sneakers paused, then turned, and Polly came 
down the stairs, not at her usual lively gait, but with 
lagging feet, a doubtful expression on her sharp little 


120 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


face. Aunt Retta, however, made no reference to 
eaves-dropping. Instead, she said at once: 

"Polly, do you know anything about any gold beads 
that were left in this drawer?” 

"No, Aunt Retta,” said Polly, with what sounded 
like a little sigh of relief. 

"Are you perfectly sure?” 

"Yes, Aunt Retta,” said Polly demurely. 

"Then, Polly,” continued Miss Henrietta, "I wish 
to say something else. I will not have you put any 
more turtles, or other horrid creatures, in this drawer. 
Do you understand me?” And as she spoke, Aunt 
Retta turned and closed it with a firm snap. 

"I didn’t put any turtle in the drawer,” said Polly. 

"What?” said Aunt Retta, turning back to Polly. 

"No, I didn’t,” repeated Polly, shaking her head. 

"Polly,” said Aunt Retta impressively, "I want you 
to look right at me. I don’t care so much about the 
turtle, but I want you to tell me the truth. No Steb- 
bins ever lies. It is not likely that Aunt Nell or Deb¬ 
orah or I put that turtle in the drawer. When did you 
do it?” 

"I didn’t put it in,” repeated Polly, looking straight 
at Aunt Retta with her shoe-button eyes. 

"I have never known Polly to say what wasn’t 
true,” said Aunt Nell quietly. 

Miss Henrietta searched the small face before her. 
Polly was no longer looking at Aunt Retta. She was 
examining the Chinese brocade that hung above the 


t 


A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 121 

hall table, and for once Polly looked ill-at-ease, if not 
even a little guilty. 

“I think you would better go upstairs to your room, 
Polly,” said Aunt Retta, "and think this thing over. 
When you are quite ready to tell the truth you may 
come down.” 

"But I am telling the truth,” insisted Polly, and 
this time she looked right at her aunt—with real 
Stebbins spirit, thought Miss Henrietta, relenting a 
little. 

Debby, meanwhile, lay in the middle of her big four- 
poster, her face buried deep in the pillow. Never had 
she felt so angry with Aunt Retta—angry and a little 
ashamed too, though she was not yet ready to acknowl¬ 
edge it. She had told Aunt Retta that she lied—And 
she had too, thought Debby fiercely, clenching her 
hands, as they lay against the counterpane on either 
side. To call Eric—Eric Anderson, a thief, after all his 
interest and all that he had done to try to help. It was 
just outrageous. Anybody but Aunt Retta would 
be able to see how fine he was. And anybody would 
"rush to his defence,” when such awful things were 
said about him. What was there peculiar about that? 
Did Aunt Retta expect her to stand there calmly, 
and hear a friend accused of being a robber. He ivas 
a friend, though—Debby faltered a little even to her¬ 
self—though of course she had seen him only twice. 
But time didn’t count in friendship. If you liked 
people, you could like them a lot right away.—How 




122 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


could Eric—Eric Anderson ever come again, after 
what had happened? Oh, she wished that she could 
go away—somewhere—to study and paint, where there 
were people who were fair and understood, and liked 
the same things. And Debby buried her face still 
deeper into the pillow, in a fresh burst of bitter tears. 

After a few minutes, when the tears had spent 
themselves, she sat up in the middle of the bed and 
looked through the window at the sweet, calm sum¬ 
mer day. How devastating it was to be angry, thought 
Debby, how it spoiled the world—but Aunt Retta 
was not to be borne. How had Aunt Nell ever stood 
it for all these years? Poor little Aunt Nelly, and now 
she had lost her beads. What could have become of 
them really? Who had taken them out of the drawer? 

It occurred to Debby, now that she felt calmer and 
more like herself, that the best way to clear Eric was 
to find the real thief, if there was one. As she dried 
her eyes, she tried to think of all the people who had 
lately been to the house. Henry Gill, the mail-man, 
had come to the screen door one day with a registered 
package for Aunt Nell, but Henry was as honest as 
the day. Then there was the plumber, who had come to 
fix the faucet in the cellar—but Debby herself had 
let him in through the bulkhead, and Aunt Retta 
had been sitting in the south parlor, in full view of 
the hall table, all the time that he was working. 

Suddenly she stopped drying her eyes. Old Tony 
Thorpe! The last time he had come with eggs, he had 


A TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


123 


wandered up to the front door, instead of the kitchen 
entrance where he usually came, and Debby had found 
him there, mumbling to himself, when she came 
down the stairs. Of course he could not have known 
that the beads were in the hall table—but nobody could 
say how long he had been standing there, and if the 
screen had happened to be unlocked—and Debby was 
almost sure that it had been—he might very well 
have wandered in and opened the table drawer to put 
the eggs in it. Debby remembered that once when 
the back door had been left unlocked, she had found 
Tony inside, by the kitchen dresser, counting out his 
eggs into a sauce-pan. Now Debby’s mind went back 
also to the day when she had worn the beads, and old 
Anthony had been so queer and mysterious. What 
could it all mean? Tony must have something to do 
with the disappearance of the necklace. Her mind 
diverted from anger by these interesting thoughts, 
Debby was on the point of getting up from the bed, 
when she heard a step in the hall outside. Perhaps it 
was Aunt Nelly going to her room—if it was Aunt 
Retta, she just couldn’t speak to her, yet, thought 
Debby, and she buried her face once more in the pro¬ 
tecting pillow. But it was neither. 

"Can I come in? It’s me,” came a stage whisper 
from the hall, and the door opened a crack. 

It was Polly, who was tired of thinking about the 
truth in her room at the back of the house, and who 
was on her way to the "office” in the attic, where there 




124 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


was a more interesting outlook. Polly looked more 
sober and subdued than usual, but she marched straight 
across the room to the side of the bed, where Debby 
was now sitting up again. 

"I think Aunt Retta was terrible , 55 said Polly stiffly, 
in her calm, thin voice. "And I don’t believe Eric 
Anderson ever, ever, ever took the beads . 55 

This was Polly’s tribute of loyalty to her sister. 
And Debby, leaning across the bed, put her arms 
around the wiry little figure, in a sudden hearty 
squeeze. But Polly, who did not care for any sort of 
an embrace, wriggled away as quickly as she could, and 
walked off again to the door. As she opened it, she 
turned. 

"And I think Eric’s a—a peach” she said. 

Then she vanished. 


Chapter Nine 

POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 

P olly sat at the old type-writer in the "office,” 
writing a letter, with one finger, to her cousin Al¬ 
thea Jones. Polly liked any excuse for typing, and she 
and Althea kept up a vigorous correspondence. Althea 
and her brother George had spent the whole summer 
at the Stebbins mansion the year before, and the little 
girls had become great friends—although Althea was 
a quiet, timid child who thought it was fun to sit on 
the porch and knit doll’s afghans. Polly really liked 
George, who was lively and jolly, a good deal better, 
but George was four years older than the girls, and 
inclined to be scornful of "kids.” Polly and Althea, 
however, had the bond of authorship between them, 
as they were both writing novels. 

Dear Althea, (began Polly) 

How are you getting along with Inez? (The 
title of Althea’s novel was "Inez Springer, Or 
the Adventures of a Movie Star”) I’m stuck on 
Sylvia because I can’t think what to do in the 
love seen. I hate love seens. Do you think it 
would be all right if I had Sylvia an old maid? 

125 


126 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


We are having an awful time here. Aunt Retta 
is mad with Debby because she stuck up for Eric 
Anderson. Eric Anderson is Debby’s boy friend. 
He’s great but Aunt Retta thinks he stole some 
beads and she thinks Debby ought to appol— 
apollo—appolijeyes but Debby wont and Aunt 
Retta had her breakfast upstairs two days and I 
had to take it up. It was Aunt Nell’s beads they 
took but she’s not mad. Praps I could have Sylvia 
fall in love with a robber and then I could have 
her mother say what Aunt Retta did and I wont 
have to think up conversation. I think conver¬ 
sation is the worst part of a novel dont you. If 
Eric Anderson comes again praps he and Debby 
will have a love seen and that would be all right 
for Sylvia. Write me the day you get this. 

Your loving cousin, 
Paulina de Cordova Stebbins. 

P.S. Tell George I can shin half way up Zab’s 
flagpole, and that’s pretty high. 

Polly got up at this point from the piano stool, and 
went to see just how high the Eaton’s flag-pole seemed 
from the attic window. But when she looked out she 
forgot the pole right away, for Zab himself was just 
turning in at the Stebbins’ side gate. Polly had not 
seen Zab for some time. He had been away for more 
than a week on a visit with his mother, and before 
that he had seemed to be rather avoiding Polly, ever 
since the day, in fact, when she had caught him getting 
over the Judge’s stone wall, and he had looked guilty. 


POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 127 

But now he was actually running along the path to 
the back of the house. 

Polly always missed Zab when he was not there, 
because it was fun to have somebody to give orders 
to. Besides, there was a radio at Zab’s house, and al¬ 
though Aunt Retta said that no true Stebbins would 
ever care much for that sort of thing, Polly listened 
in whenever she could to the broadcasts of two or three 
continued stories. It helped a great deal with Sylvia 
Fisher. Polly was therefore genuinely glad to see that 
Zab was home again. She quickly pulled down the 
top of the attic window and stuck out her head. 

"Zab,” she called, "Zab, where you going?” Then, 
as Zab disappeared without a word around the corner 
of the house, "Wait for me,” shouted Polly, "I’m com¬ 
ing down.” 

Abandoning her correspondence with Althea, Polly 
ran through the attic and down the stairs as fast as she 
could, using the banisters for the last flight, and bump¬ 
ing into Debby, who was just coming out of the little 
workshop into the hall. A moment later she had 
climbed over the railing of the back porch, and 
jumped down into the garden. Zab was peering in 
among the branches of a big syringa bush. 

"There’s something in there,” he said. 

Polly crouched down and looked in too. 

"It’s only one of Tony’s cats,” she said, "the old 
black and white one that fights all the time. Oh,” she 
exclaimed with satisfaction, as the cat slunk out from 


128 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


the other side of the bush, "'it’s got a torn ear. There’s 
blood on it. Let’s catch it and do it up.” 

But the cat had no idea of being done up. It had 
perhaps already had experience of Polly’s clinics. At 
any rate, as soon as it saw that Polly and Zab were on 
its trail, it vanished under another and still larger bush. 
For at least fifteen minutes the children chased this un¬ 
willing patient about the garden, cornering it finally in 
the barberry hedge. Polly dragged the cat out by a 
hind leg, and carried it, struggling, toward the house. 

"Why don’t you take it to the hospital?” asked Zab, 
at her heels. 

"I used up all the sterile gauze on Eric Anderson,” 
replied Polly. "We can take it into Debby’s studio. 
She’s just gone upstairs, and I know she’s got some 
gauze there. She uses it for paint brushes.” 

The little workshop conveniently had an entrance 
directly from the side path, and Polly and Zab, peek¬ 
ing in through the partly open door, saw that it was 
indeed empty. They went in with the cat, and closed 
the door carefully behind them. 

Polly looked all around over the table and shelves, 
but she could not see any gauze. She even poked about 
a bit among the drawings in the old chest, which was 
standing open, although she had strict orders from 
Debby never to touch it. This had given the chest a 
pleasant suggestion of mystery. The cat had by this 
time escaped from Polly’s arms, and was slinking about 
the room, trying to find an exit. 


POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 


129 


"I tell you what,” said Polly, "you stay here with 
the cat, and I’ll go upstairs and get some gauze and 
some arnica. I know where they are.” 

"No,” said Zab, asserting himself for once, "I’ll go 
too.” The truth was, Zab was always a little afraid 
of Aunt Retta, and never liked to be left alone in the 
Stebbins mansion. Polly stared at him in surprise. 

"All right,” she said, conceding the point. So the 
children slipped quickly through the door into the 
hall, and closed it behind them. 

Polly led the way to the medicine closet on the 
second floor. They could hear Aunt Retta moving 
about in her room at the front of the house, and Debby 
and Aunt Nell talking together up still another flight, 
but they saw nobody, and they succeeded in tip-toeing 
quietly downstairs again, unnoticed, with their reme¬ 
dies. Polly was sure from what Aunt Retta had said 
about more "creatures,” that Tony’s cat would not be 
a welcome guest in the house. And suddenly Polly 
was more than ever glad that Aunt Retta was safely 
upstairs, for just as the children reached the lower hall 
again, they heard the most terrific yowling coming 
from the studio. 

With all speed they ran to open the door, and there 
in the studio was a genuine patient awaiting them. 
For the cat, in an investigating frame of mind, had 
got into the open chest, and in some way had succeeded 
in knocking down the heavy lid, which had fallen 
upon one of its paws, holding it as in a trap. 


130 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Oh, oh!” cried Polly in horror, rushing across the 
room, to release the poor victim. "Close the door, 
quick.” 

For the cat, as soon as the heavy lid was lifted, 
leapt in terror for the door, holding up the injured 
paw, and yowling miserably, as it scuttled across the 
room. 

"Oh, the poor thing!” said Polly, picking the cat up 
tenderly, and examining the paw. "I guess it crushed 
it pretty bad.” 

"We’ll have to do that up first, won’t we?” said 
Zab, looking on with interest. 

"Yes,” said Polly, sitting down in the chair beside 
the table, with the struggling animal on her lap. "Put 
the arnica and gauze over here, and then hold it tight 
by the legs—so—while I fix it—and don’t you dare let 
go once.” 

Zab reluctantly did as he was told, and for a few 
minutes there was a lively scene in the workshop. Polly 
applied the arnica and gauze, while Zab’s freckled face 
became as red as his hair in his struggle not to let go. 
A great deal of arnica went on the floor instead of on 
the cat, and the workshop was so filled with cries of 
protest that Polly was sure they must reach even Aunt 
Retta’s ears. But the gauze was at last successfully 
knotted around the injured paw, and Polly even 
succeeded in tying a scrap of it on the torn ear. 

"Now we must take it home,” she said, getting up 
from the chair. 


POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 


131 


"It’s almost supper time,” said Zab, who had had 
enough of the cat. 

"You needn’t come if you don’t want to,” said 
Polly indifferently, "but I shall carry it back to 
Tony’s.” And she marched out into the hall, opened 
the closet door and took down one of the string bags 
with which Aunt Nell went to market. With Zab’s 
help, she put the cat into the bag, which fortunately 
was made of good stout cord. "Now it can’t jump 
and hurt itself any more,” said Polly with satisfac¬ 
tion. Then, firmly holding the bag, she ran through 
the kitchen and down the porch steps, followed by 
Zab, who had forgotten his supper in the interests 
of this new adventure. 

The procession went swiftly down the garden path, 
and through the hole in the hedge that separated the 
Stebbins place from old Anthony’s field. The cat 
had got its head through the string bag, and was 
howling dismally, but Polly made no move to let it 
out. 

"Are you going to take it right up to the house?” 
asked Zab breathlessly, as they went across the field. 

"Yes,” replied Polly, who had always longed for an 
excuse to see the inside of that mysterious cottage. 
"We shall have to tell Tony what happened to his cat, 
and say we’re sorry.” And she walked right up on 
the forbidden door-stone in front of the house, and 
rapped on the door. 

There was no response from inside, but the chil- 


132 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


dren heard what sounded like a chair scraping on the 
floor, and Polly, remembering that old Minnie was 
deaf, lifted the latch and went in. 

A strong smell of stale tobacco and long-cooked 
onions greeted the children as they stepped into the 
room. It seemed very dark, for the three windows 
were small, and little of the late afternoon light came 
through the dusty panes. They did not see old Minnie, 
but at the back of the room, by the big iron stove, 
they could make out the figure of old Anthony, sit¬ 
ting in a wooden armchair. The only other furniture 
in the room were two kitchen chairs, a table littered 
with unwashed dishes, and a broken-down couch in 
a corner, with a rumpled pillow and quilt on it. At 
the other end of the room was a sort of cupboard with 
a bunk built into it—where old Minnie probably 
slept, thought Polly. Through a partly open door at 
the back several chickens were going in and out. 
Strings of sliced apples, discolored by smoke, hung 
from the rafters above the stove, and the slim tails 
of three or four cats protruded from under it. Old 
Anthony leaned forward in his chair, peering toward 
the door in the dim light, and waving his hand before 
his face, in the weird gesture with which he greeted 
deaf and dumb Minnie. 

"It’s only me, Tony,” said Polly, stepping forward 
into the scanty light from the window. 

As quickly as she could she untied the string bag 
and took out the cat. Old Anthony gripped the arms 


POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 


133 


of his chair, and his dull watery eyes looked, uncom¬ 
prehending, first at Polly and then at the cat. She 
went closer to the old man, and held out her still 
struggling patient. 

"'See, Tony,” she explained. "It’s your cat, and it 
got hurt—up at our house. We took it in to fix its 
ear, and it got into a chest and the lid fell on it. 
We’re awfully sorry. It was a big heavy chest up at 
our house, you know, and I guess it hurt it, but we 
did it up the best we could, and I think it will be 
all right. See?” And Polly held out the paw tied up 
in the gauze. 

But old Anthony paid no attention whatever to the 
cat. He was looking straight at Polly, and a sly gleam 
had come into his old eyes. 

"The big chest,” he murmured shakily. "The heavy 
chest. I made that.” 

"What, Tony?” said Polly, staring at the old man. 
"Great-grandfather Stebbins made our chest.” 

"I made the chest with the Captain,” repeated old 
Anthony, wagging his unkempt head from side to 
side, and seeming to look right through Polly, with 
eyes that were suddenly bright. 

"You made our old chest, Tony?” said Polly in 
astonishment, while the cat jumped unheeded out 
of her arms, and limped across the room to the 
stove. 

Old Anthony continued to wag his head, this time 
up and down. 



But it was not old Minnie at the door 




POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 


135 


"Fine and strong, fine and strong/’ he said. "A 
precious thing. Sh—sh!” And the old man put his 
finger on his lips. 

"And you really helped Great-grandfather?” said 
Polly, deeply interested, coming closer to the arm¬ 
chair. "Tell me about it, Tony.” 

The old head continued to nod up and down. 

"Captain went away, but 'Tony/ says he, 'watch, 
watchV ” As he spoke, old Anthony raised a long 
trembling finger, and shook it close to Polly’s face, 
" 'Watch, Tony,’ he says, 'if fire comes at the big 
house, run—run—the precious thing first—the 
precious thing first’— Sh—sh!” And he laid his fin¬ 
ger again on his lips. 

"What do you suppose he means?” said Polly, in a 
half whisper, turning to Zab, who stood behind her, 
trying to make himself as small as possible. 

"Let’s go now,” said Zab, in a scared voice, tugging 
at the belt of Polly’s Scout uniform. "It’s ever so 
much past supper.” 

Polly turned back to the old man, but the mo¬ 
mentary gleam had gone out of his face, and he 
seemed to have forgotten what he had said. 

"Supper,” he repeated after Zab, half raising him¬ 
self from his chair. "Where’s Min?” 

"I don’t know,” said Polly. "She’s not here. Do 
you want your supper, Tony?” 

Old Anthony sank back in his armchair. 

"Put the kettle on,” he said querulously, nodding 


136 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


his head, and pointing his shaky finger toward the 
stove. 

Polly, by this time thoroughly thrilled with the 
adventure, shook Zab’s hand from her belt, and 
walked over to the stove. Polly could never bear to let 
anything be hungry. She lifted one of the iron lids 
of the stove and peeked inside. The fire was low, so 
she dropped in several pieces of kindling from the 
wood-box, and put the old iron kettle over the hole. 
In a minute or two it began to sing. She looked into 
the rusty tea-pot on the stove, and seeing that there 
were already some soaked grounds in it, she poured 
in the boiling water from the kettle. Then she walked 
over to the table and cut three slices of bread from 
the crumbly loaf. She could see no butter anywhere 
among the litter on the table, but there was some 
doubtful jam in a saucer, and she spread this on the 
bread. Next she took down three cracked cups from 
a shelf and filled them with the brew from the tea¬ 
pot. The tea was a dark, cloudy maroon, and Polly, 
who had never been allowed to have any at home that 
was not the lightest straw-color, wondered in antici¬ 
pation how this would taste. 

During all these preparations old Anthony sat nod¬ 
ding his head, and following Polly intently with his 
little red eyes, as she went back and forth across the 
room. Zab, on the edge of a chair near the table, 
wished with all his heart that he dared to get up and 


POLLY PUTS THE KETTLE ON 


137 


go, but more than anything else he dreaded to have 
Polly call him "Fraidy-cat.” 

When everything was ready Polly helped old An¬ 
thony to move up to a corner of the table, where she 
cleared a place for his tea and bread. She also gave 
Zab his. Then she took her own and sat down beside 
Zab, facing old Anthony, who began at once to munch 
his bread and wash it down with the tea. Polly, on 
one edge of the chair, sipped hers and made a very wry 
face. Then she remembered that it was real grown-up 
tea at last, so she put in a great deal of sugar from 
the bowl on the table, and went bravely on sipping. 
But Zab did not feel like eating. He just sat on the 
other edge of the chair, uncomfortably holding his 
cup, and wondering how Tony could eat so fast 
with so few teeth. 

It was already dusk outside, and within the dim 
room it seemed to the children to get more shadowy 
every minute. They could see a faint glow from the 
stove across the kitchen, and the uncouth shape of old 
Anthony against the light of the window, as he 
gulped his tea. The warmth and comfort of it seemed 
to revive the old man, for after a few minutes he set 
down his cup and smacked his lips. Then, looking 
right at the children, his head wagging from side 
to side, he began to talk, mumblingly at first, of the 
long-ago days when he went to sea—of wind and 
storm and monstrous waves, of whales, harpoons and 


138 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


kegs of rum. As he went on, the years seemed to drop 
away from old Anthony, and his voice was steadier 
and clearer than Polly had ever heard it. She and Zab 
sat on the edge of their chairs, their tea forgotten, as 
they listened entranced. 

They did not even notice that there was almost 
complete darkness in the room, until suddenly there 
was a loud knock at the door. Both the children 
jumped, while old Anthony’s voice trailed away 
querulously. Against the faint light of the window 
the children could see him peering over their heads 
toward the door, and making the weird gesture in 
front of his face which meant "Min.” But it was not 
old Minnie at the door. 

"Come in,” mumbled old Anthony. 

"Quick!” said Polly, clutching Zab, and pulling 
him toward the still half-open back door. 

But before they reached it, the front door was 
pushed open, and a flashlight fell brightly on Polly 
and Zab in the middle of old Anthony’s cottage. 
Polly looked over her shoulder. 

"Oh!” she said, as she and Zab vanished through the 
back door into old Anthony’s field. 

For it was Debby! 



Chapter Ten 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


M eanwhile up at the Stebbins mansion, supper 
had been ready for twenty minutes, but there 
was no Polly. 

"This is the third time this week that Polly has been 
late,” said Miss Henrietta, coming into the kitchen. 
"We will not wait any longer. The child deserves to 
miss her supper some night, and then perhaps she 
will remember. At any rate she shall eat it cold.” 

So Aunt Nell carried the scallop into the dining¬ 
room, and the three sat down to a rather silent meal. 
Debby had as yet made no apology to Aunt Retta for 
her hasty words earlier in the week, and although 
family life went on much as usual, there was about it 


139 



140 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


the uncomfortable suggestion of an armed truce. 
"Don’t you think you could tell Aunt Retta that you 
are sorry that you spoke quite as you did?” had sug¬ 
gested Aunt Nell on the morning after the scene in 
the hall. 

"I will, if Aunt Retta will take back what she 
said about Eric,” Debby had replied almost sullenly, 
quite unconscious in her recurrent flash of anger that 
she had called Eric Anderson by his first name. 
Debby and Aunt Retta continued to say as little as 
possible to each other, but Aunt Retta had the wis¬ 
dom to make no further reference to the supposed 
theft. Debby, however, continued to think a great 
deal about the gold beads, and about old Anthony’s 
connection with them. As soon as supper had been 
cleared away, she came to the door of the south 
parlor. 

"I am going out for a little while,” she said, speak¬ 
ing rather to Aunt Nell than to Aunt Retta, "and I 
will see if I can find Polly.” 

"I wish you would, Deborah,” said Aunt Retta, 
who was standing by a window looking out into the 
garden, where it was already quite dark. "I cannot 
think where the child can be.” 

Debby, however, did not go into the garden. She 
went through the front gate, and along the grass- 
grown side-walk that led down the hill toward the 
town. As she went, she several times gave the pe¬ 
culiar whistle that she and Polly often used when they 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


141 


wished to find each other, but there was no response 
from anywhere in the dusk of the summer evening. 
It was queer that Polly should stay out as late as 
this, thought Debby. 

But her mind was not really very much upon Polly. 
Debby was on her way to see Anthony Thorpe, and 
to find out, if she could, what he knew about the 
gold beads. Aunt Retta, to be sure, had forbidden them 
to go to old Anthony’s cottage, but that was three 
years ago, when she and Polly had first come to Bell- 
port. She was eighteen now, and a teacher at the 
Academy, and why should Aunt Retta tell her where 
she should, or should not, go. 

Debby pushed open the broken gate in front of old 
Anthony’s, and walked through the ragged wet grass 
to the door. There was no light in the cottage, but 
through one of the windows Debby could hear the 
droning of old Anthony’s voice inside—no doubt talk¬ 
ing to himself, as he so often did, thought Debby, 
standing in a moment’s hesitation on the door-stone. 
She did rather dislike to walk alone into that queer, 
dark house, but after all, she had her flashlight, and 
the poor old man was harmless enough. Now that she 
had at last made up her mind and was there, she must 
not go back. 

So Debby snapped on her flash, and knocked on the 
door as loudly as she could. The talking inside the 
cottage stopped at once. Then she heard Tony’s 
querulous old voice, saying "Come in.” Debby lifted 



142 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


the latch and walked in, flashing her light before her. 
It fell not on old Anthony, as she expected, but 
directly on Polly and Zab, who were making for the 
back door. 

“Polly Stebbins,” called Debby, as the children ran 
into the field outside, "what are you doing here?” 

Polly made no reply, and Debby, forgetting for a 
moment in her surprise both old Anthony and her 
errand, stared out into the dusk of the night, where 
the children were disappearing across the field. She 
was recalled to her immediate surroundings by the 
sound of a grunt behind her, and turning, she saw old 
Anthony leaning forward in his chair toward her. 
He was making again the strange gesture for old 
Minnie, and the flashlight cast uncanny shadows of 
his bent, uncouth figure and his waving arm against 
the wall behind him. The miserable, disordered little 
room, with the old man sitting in it, seemed to Debby, 
in the unnatural light of the flash, like a veritable den. 
She shuddered a little, but she walked over to old 
Anthony. 

“It’s Debby Stebbins,” she said, “from up at the 
big house. You remember me, don’t you, Tony? 
You bring eggs to us, you know.” 

The old man, who had been indeed blinded by the 
flashlight, passed his hand across his red little eyes, and 
looked shakily up into Debby’s face. 

“Tony,” she went on earnestly, “I’ve come to ask 
you something. Do you remember the beads, the 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 143 

necklace, that you saw one day here?” And as she 
spoke, Debby put her hand to her throat. 

At the mention of the necklace, the same sly look 
that Debby had noticed before came over old An¬ 
thony’s wrinkled face, and he nodded his head slowly 
and knowingly. 

"A precious thing—the precious thing first,” he 
said, the words which he had spoken to Polly and Zab 
evidently lingering still in his feeble mind. 

"Well, Tony,” continued Debby, looking right at 
the old man, and speaking as impressively as she could, 
"I want you to tell me this. Do you know where the 
necklace is now?” 

A look almost of fright came into old Anthony’s 
face, and his trembling mouth moved convulsively, as 
he continued to nod his head. 

"Oh, where is it, Tony?” said Debby eagerly. "You 
must tell me right away.” 

But old Anthony merely looked up at the young 
face above him, with craftiness mingled with the 
fright, and put his finger on his lips, as he had done be¬ 
fore. 

"Sh—sh,” he said, "don’t tell. Sh!” 

There was something so weird about the whole scene, 
that when at that moment the latch rattled behind her, 
and the door was again pushed open, Debby all but 
screamed. But it was only old deaf and dumb Minnie, 
come home at last. She stood, gray and gaunt and 
bedraggled in her faded cotton dress, blinking into 


144 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Debby’s flashlight, but her dull face showed neither 
interest nor surprise. She merely walked over to the 
table, and finding matches somewhere, lighted the 
kerosene lamp that stood among the unwashed dishes. 
When, after a moment, Debby turned back to Tony, 
the old man seemed to have forgotten her and all 
that she had said, in his interest in Min’s home¬ 
coming. He was waving his arm, and pointing first at 
the loaf of bread, and then at the stove, evidently 
eager for more to eat. 

"Where is it, the necklace, Tony? Tell me,” said 
Debby, bending down once more toward the old man. 

But it was impossible to capture his attention again. 
He could think of nothing but Min, and the supper 
which she was now stirring up in an iron pot on the 
stove. And as the odor of onion began to seep through 
the stuffy room, the old man smacked his lips, and 
moved restlessly in his chair. He seemed wholly un¬ 
conscious of Debby’s presence, and after a few minutes, 
seeing that it would be impossible to find out any¬ 
thing more from him just then, she lifted the latch, 
and slipped out through the door. 

With a long breath, Debby drew in the sweet 
fragrance of the summer night. After the dirt and 
squalor of that room, even the dew upon her feet 
was refreshing. She walked slowly back up the hill, 
feeling more baffled than ever about the beads. And 
what could Polly have been doing in old Anthony’s 
cottage? She must speak to her about it, for Aunt 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 


14S 


Retta was right, Polly should not be going in and out 
of that horrid little house. But she would tell no one 
about the transgression. She was not ready to have her 
own visit to old Anthony known—and besides, Polly 
had been a dear about Eric. Turning it all over in her 
mind, Debby went up the walk between the mignon¬ 
ette and asters. How sweet it smelled in the soft 
dark. Aunt Retta was standing at the screen* door as 
she came up. 

'Tolly?” said Miss Henrietta, in an anxious voice, 
peering through the screen. "Oh, it’s just you,” she 
added, as Debby stepped into the light from the hall. 
"Then you didn’t find her?” 

"Not exactly,” said Debby, hesitating. "I just saw 
her—running across the field—with—Zab—but she 
wouldn’t answer!” 

"What field?” said Aunt Retta, obviously relieved. 

"Behind—old Anthony’s cottage,” replied Debby, 
coming into the hall. 

"Behind Tony Thorpe’s?” said Miss Henrietta, in 
a voice both puzzled and annoyed, staring at 
Debby. "What was Polly doing there at this time of 
night?” 

"I don’t know,” replied Debby, with truth, if not 
quite with ease of mind. "I couldn’t see just which 
way she went.” 

"You had your flashlight,” observed Miss Henrietta, 
looking at Debby’s hand. "That’s certainly very 
strange.” Then she went to the door of the south 


146 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


parlor. "Nell,” she said to her sister, "Deborah saw 
Polly running across old Tony’s field. Why do you 
suppose she doesn’t come home?” 

"Perhaps she is coming up through the garden now,” 
suggested Aunt Nell. 

Aunt Retta walked quickly back into the hall, and 
out through the side door of Debby’s workshop into 
the garden, followed by Aunt Nell. 

"Polly,” called Aunt Retta, in her strong, deep voice 
into the night, "Polly, where are you?” 

Debby, standing in the doorway, whistled their own 
particular call over and over again, but there was no 
response. 

"She can’t be there,” said Miss Henrietta, coming 
back into the house, "or she would have answered.” 

Debby noticed that lines of deep anxiety had come 
back to Aunt Retta’s face. 

"If Zab was with her,” suggested Aunt Nell, "why 
can’t Debby go over to the Eatons’, sister, and see if 
he has come home.” 

"Yes,” assented Miss Henrietta. "Please go at once, 

t 

Deborah, and find out all you can.” 

While Debby ran out into the garden and around 
the corner of the house toward the Eatons’, her two 
aunts went back into the south parlor. Miss Eleanor 
took some mending from her sewing basket, and tried 
to compose herself to a bit of work, but Miss Henrietta 
could not sit down. She paced restlessly from the 
window to the screen door and back to the window 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 147 

again. After a few minutes Debby came running 
breathlessly in from the Eatons’. 

“Well?” said Aunt Retta in a loud voice from the 
hall, as soon as she heard the step upon the porch. 

"Zab came home ever so long ago,” said Debby 
hurriedly. “He said he was running ahead of Polly, 
and when he got to the back of the Eatons’ garden he 
looked back, but Polly wasn’t anywhere in sight. 
They had come along by the River Road.” 

“The River Road!” exclaimed Miss Henrietta, her 
face going quite white. “Why, Nell, that’s where they 
were searching yesterday for that escaped convict, the 
one that got away from Thomaston last week! Good 
heavens! We must get the Judge right away.” 

Within five minutes Judge Parker, cool and pom¬ 
pous, was in the Stebbins’ hall, and as soon as he had 
heard the story of Polly’s disappearance, he hurried 
back at once across the street, to get his car and begin 
a systematic search. 

It was now eight o’clock. When Judge Parker had 
gone chugging off into the night in the direction of 
the River Road, Debby and Carol Eaton walked 
quickly down through the garden, taking Zab with 
them, so that he might point out the exact spot at 
which he had last seen Polly, while Aunt Nell, her¬ 
self a little white, made another careful tour of the 
garden with Debby’s flashlight. Aunt Retta, mean¬ 
while, stood at the telephone in the back hall, nervously 
calling up, number after number, anybody and every- 


148 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


body who might possibly know of Polly’s whereabouts. 

At nine o’clock Judge Parker telephoned to report 
that he had so far found no trace, and that he had 
notified Constable Gage. At half past nine he tele¬ 
phoned again that the Constable was getting together 
a posse of men to search the woods across from the 
River Road, and that the Constable wanted to know 
what Polly wore when she went away. 

"Do you know what she had on, Deborah?” said 
Miss Henrietta, turning distractedly from the tele¬ 
phone to the others, who stood behind her. "Or you, 
Nell?” 

Never, thought Debby, had she seen her stern, com¬ 
posed aunt so apparently on the brink of going to 
pieces. As she looked at the white, drawn face by the 
telephone, she suddenly knew that it was the face of 
one who thinks she has lost what is dearest to her in 
all the world. 

"I—I—I’m not sure,” said Debby. "Her Scout 
uniform, I think.” 

"Go upstairs and see if her uniform is in her room,” 
commanded Miss Henrietta, tapping nervously with 
her fingers on the table, "Quickly! I am holding the 
line.” 

As fast as she could Debby raced up the long flight, 
while the others waited below in a silence broken at 
first only by the continued tapping of Aunt Retta’s 
fingers on the telephone stand, then suddenly by the 
cry of Debby from the upper hall. 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 149 

"She’s here !—Aunt Retta—Aunt Nell—She’s up¬ 
stairs in her room, asleep!” 

"What!” cried Miss Henrietta, dropping the tele¬ 
phone, and starting for the stairs, up which she ran 
almost as fast as Debby. And there was nobody to see 
that it was Aunt Nell who spoke the few necessary 
words into the telephone, and hung up the receiver. 

For several moments the two aunts and Debby stood 
speechless by the little spool-bed, looking down at the 
slumbering figure under the candlewick spread. There 
was always something touching about Polly when she 
was asleep, and Debby saw Aunt Retta’s stern face 
suddenly tremble and crumple, before it was hidden 
in the still shaking hands. The reaction of relief was 
more than even Miss Henrietta could bear. 

"Oh Aunt Retta,” said Debby, with a rush of warm 
feeling, laying her hand impulsively on the arm be¬ 
side her, "I’m—I’m sorry.” And thus did Debby make 
her apology. 

In a moment Aunt Retta took her hands from her 
face, which had composed itself again. 

"How did she get here?” she demanded. "Weren’t 
you in the kitchen all the time before supper, Nell? 
She couldn’t have come up the back stairs without your 
seeing her.” 

"No,” said Aunt Nell, a puzzled look on her gentle 
face, "I’m sure she didn’t.” 

Debby glanced around the room, which was un- 
wontedly neat. The Scout uniform was laid smoothly 


150 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


over the back of a chair, Polly’s underclothes were 
folded discreetly on the foot of the bed, and there were 
even shoe-trees in the sneakers on the floor. But Debby 
noticed that the screen was not quite firmly in the 
back window, and that on the window sill there was 
a small footprint. 

"I think,” said Debby, "that she shinned up the 
waterpipe, and came in over the porch roof. I saw her 
half way up the Eatons’ flag-pole yesterday.” 

"Why on earth should she do that?” said Aunt 
Retta, in quite her usual tone of voice. "Unless she 
has been doing something she is ashamed of. We shall 
have to look into it in the morning. Now we must 
go down and try to get in touch with the Judge.” 

With these words, Miss Henrietta led the way out 
of the room, and quietly closed Polly’s door behind 
them. 

As soon as the sound of footsteps on the stairs had 
died away, Polly suddenly sat up straight in the spool- 
bed, her black eyes very wide and bright. Old An¬ 
thony’s tea had been potent, and Polly had only been 
playing possum! Listening carefully, she slipped over 
the edge of the bed. Tip-toeing across the room, she 
opened the closet door, and drew forth a paper bag 
from the bottom of the box where her best white hat 
reposed, in a nest of tissue paper. When she was safely 
back in bed with the bag, Polly opened it and took 
out a graham cracker. It was a little stale and crumbly, 
to be sure, but Polly, who had gone almost supperless 


ANOTHER TREASURE DISAPPEARS 151 

to bed, found it delicious. She ate six with great relish. 
Then she put the paper bag beneath her pillow, and 
snuggling down under the candlewick spread, she 
went, in spite of old Anthony’s tea, peacefully to 
sleep. 





Chapter Eleven 

A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 


P olly came skipping up the front walk from the 
mail-box. She held one hand behind her, but in 
the other was an envelope which she was studying 
with great interest. In the left-hand corner were the 
words The Columbian Mtiseum, in elegant raised let¬ 
ters. 

"It’s from Mr. Anderson,” announced Polly to 
Aunt Retta, who was waiting at the screen door, "but 
it’s for you, not Debby.” 

"For me—from Mr. Anderson?” said Aunt Retta, 
drawing her brows together. Then looking down over 
her glasses, "What have you in the other hand, Polly?” 

152 






A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 153 

"Only the string bag. It—it was left outside/’ re¬ 
plied Polly, reluctantly disclosing that article from 
behind her back. 

As a matter of fact, Polly had just been to fetch the 
bag from old Anthony’s, where it had been reposing, 
forgotten, for several days, ever since she and Zab 
had taken the cat home in it. It was most unfortunate 
that Aunt Retta should have happened to be at the 
door waiting, just at this moment. But Miss Henri¬ 
etta was too much interested in the letter to do more 
than glance absently at the string bag, a little surprised 
that it was not the newspaper. 

"Go out now, please, Polly,” she said, "and bring in 
all the things that are hanging on the line.” 

Polly moved off very slowly in the direction of the 
kitchen, for she did want, most dreadfully, to know 
what was in that letter, and the clothes-line was en¬ 
tirely out of earshot. 

"I cannot imagine what that young man can be 
writing to me about,” said Miss Henrietta to Miss 
Eleanor, who at that moment came down the stairs. 
"Although I certainly have a few things to say to 
him the next time I see him,” she added. "I am posi¬ 
tive that I left the beads in that drawer. You haven’t 
found any trace of them yet, have you, sister?” 

"No,” said Aunt Nell, a momentary look of trouble 
about her mouth. And Debby, arranging music on the 
piano in the south parlor, set her lips tight also, and 
tried to fight back the angry color that she felt again 


154 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


in her cheeks, for she had heard Aunt Retta’s words. 

Miss Henrietta tore open the envelope, and glanced 
at the bottom of the sheet. The name there was not 
what she expected, for it was signed, "Basil Gregory, 
Curator of the Columbian Museum of Fine Arts.” 
Still standing in the hall, with Miss Eleanor beside her, 
Miss Henrietta read the letter. 

"What!” she exclaimed, as her eyes went swiftly 
down the page, "Why—I never heard of such a thing! 
—Why—what presumption!” 

"What is it, sister?” said Aunt Nell, evidently 
startled by the deep flush on Miss Henrietta’s face. 

"Why, the Columbian Museum wants us to allow 
them to take Mother’s portrait for further inspection. 
They actually suppose that we would allow it to go 
off among strangers, and they even hint that we might 
wish to sell it!” said Miss Henrietta, handing the letter 
to her sister. 

Our representative reports (read Aunt Nell) 
that you have in your possession a portrait bear¬ 
ing the signature of Forsythe Brown. You are no 
doubt aware of the rarity of genuine works by 
this artist, and will understand our interest in 
the matter. We should consider it a favor if you 
would permit us to send experts to look at it 
again, and if possible to bring it temporarily 
to the Columbian Museum, in order that it may 
be more minutely examined with the Museum 
facilities. I can assure you that it will be fully 
protected from fire hazard, as every great work 


A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 155 


of art should be. I might add that, should it 
prove to be really a work of Forsythe Brown, 
the Museum might be in a position to make you 
an offer for the portrait. 

"I will not have them in the house,” declared Miss 
Henrietta, in a voice that shook. "Do they suppose 
that we should for a minute consider taking money 
for the portrait, the Stebbins’ most priceless heirloom. 
It’s all of a piece—that young man’s worming his 
way into our home to look over our personal property, 
and now this making a family portrait a matter of 
dollars and cents.” 

"Can we not come in here and talk it over, sister?” 
said Miss Eleanor quietly, stepping into the south 
parlor. 

"I don’t see that there is anything to talk over,” 
said Miss Henrietta in her strong, positive voice, nev¬ 
ertheless following her sister into the room. It was a 
very unusual thing indeed, thought Debby, who was 
still standing by the piano, for Aunt Nell to be leading 
the way. "May we have this room for a few minutes, 
Deborah?” added Miss Henrietta, sitting down in the 
wing chair. 

"I think Debby might stay, sister,” said Aunt Nell, 
also taking a seat. "Perhaps this will prove to be a 
matter that concerns us all.” 

Miss Henrietta looked across at her sister in evident 
surprise. 

"Very well,” she said, a little stiffly. And Debby, 



156 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


flushed and uncomfortable, sat down on the piano 
seat. "Now what is it you wish to say, Eleanor?” asked 
Miss Henrietta. 

Miss Eleanor looked toward the piano, and when 
she spoke, it was to Debby. It was almost as if she 
were trying to gain time. 

"Your Aunt Retta has just had a letter from the 
Columbian Museum,” she explaned, "Saying that they 
want to take Great-grandmother’s portrait for further 
examination, and that it may be worth a good deal 
of money. It—it is rather upsetting.” 

Debby gripped the piano seat on either side. So 
Eric had been right! 

"Now that the first surprise is over, I see no reason 
to be upset,” said Aunt Retta. "I shall simply write 
this Mr. Basil—Whatever-his-name-is—that we can¬ 
not of course give his suggestion any consideration.” 

"It seems to me, sister,” said Aunt Nell, hesitating 
a little, "that we ought at least to let them send their 
experts to look at it again.” 

"What reason is there for that,” said Miss Henrietta, 
"since the portrait is not for sale?” 

"But if—if the picture really proves to be very 
valuable oughtn’t we to consider the fire hazard here 
—in this old house?” 

"What on earth do you mean, Eleanor?” said Miss 
Henrietta, staring at her sister, her brows very level, 
her lips a thin tight line. 

"Well—it speaks in the letter, you know, of the— 



A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 157 

the importance of placing great works of art where 
they will be safe,” replied Aunt Nell. 

"You mean that you would be willing to see our 
mother’s picture taken out of this house by strangers 
and sold?” demanded Aunt Retta. 

"I certainly should not want to have it go,” said little 
Miss Eleanor, and her face quivered, "but it seems 
to me—” 

"It seems to you that money is worth more than 
family feeling,” said Aunt Retta, as Aunt Nell 
hesitated for a word. "That we could even consider 
selling our mother at any price?” 

Aunt Nell bit her lip. 

"That is not just it, Henrietta,” she said. "Perhaps 
we should not want to consider it—” 

"Want to consider it!” interrupted Aunt Retta 
again, in a voice that sounded to Debby almost fierce. 

"Please let me speak, Henrietta,” said Miss Eleanor, 
holding up one of her delicate hands, and Debby from 
the other side of the room thought that Aunt Nell was 
very brave indeed. "I only mean that—I think we 
should look at this—this proposal from all sides. I 
care as much as you do for Mother’s portrait, and I 
want it cherished always—somewhere. But—if it is 
really valuable, it might—it might educate Debby and 
Polly.” 

Aunt Retta sat very erect, a look of amazement on 
her face. 

"Eleanor,” she said, "I can hardly believe my ears. 



158 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Is it you— you, who are telling me that we should sell 
the most precious thing in the Stebbins family?” 

"No, Henrietta,” said Aunt Nell, with a sudden 
intensity that Debby had never before heard in that 
gentle voice, "the portrait is not the most precious 
thing in the family. Oh, we have always cared too 
much for things. We have been ready to sacrifice 
everything—everything, for tables and chairs and 
pictures and—and bric-a-brac. But they are not the 
most precious. It’s Debby and Polly. They need 
schooling and opportunity and everything we cannot 
give them. Mother herself would want these things 
for them. She had them when she was young, and she 
would wish to give them to Debby and Polly, for they 
are Stebbins’, and we have no right to deny them 
just to keep a few secretaries and portraits in this house, 
for our own pride.” 

And Aunt Nell suddenly bent her head, and put her 
hands over her flushed and trembling face. For a 
moment nobody spoke. Debby, on the piano seat, 
was trying to make it seem real that it was Aunt Nell 
who had just given voice to such passionate feeling. 
The repressions of years, it seemed, had found vent at 
last. As for Aunt Retta, she sat as if stunned, looking 
at the bowed figure on the opposite chair, the portrait 
apparently forgotten in astonishment at her sister. 

"You are not yourself, Eleanor,” she said, rising 
from the wing chair. And without further words, Miss 
Henrietta walked out of the room. 


A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 159 


Debby, as soon as she heard Aunt Retta’s footsteps 
on the stairs, jumped up from the piano seat, and ran 
quickly across the room, a strange conflict of feelings 
within her. 

"Oh, Aunt Nelly,” she said, crouching down by the 
chair, and putting her cheek against Aunt Nell’s 
arm, "you are a dear! I do want to go to the Art 
School, oh so much, but—but I don’t think I could 
ever bear to have Great-grandmother go—indeed I 
don’t. She’s just like a real person in there, isn’t she? 
Oh, Aunt Nelly, say you think so too.” 

Aunt Nell took her hands from her face, on which 
there were still traces of intense feeling, and turned 
and kissed Debby. 

"She was my mother,” she said in her own quiet 
voice again, "and whatever happened, she could never 
really go away from this house.” 

Then she too rose, and held out her hand to Debby. 
But although they went together, arm in arm, up the 
stairs, Debby had for the first time a sense of not being 
quite near to Aunt Nell, and of having a strange mo¬ 
mentary kinship with Aunt Retta. All the Stebbins, 
all the artist, in Debby cried out for the beautiful pic¬ 
ture that was so much a part of their life. 

When Debby had settled Aunt Nell on her couch, 
and drawn the shades and brought a cool moist hand¬ 
kerchief—for one of the severe headaches was already 
coming on—she walked across the hall to her own 
room, and drew a chair to the window. From it she 



160 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


could see the automobiles that came from the village 
toward the Stebbins hill. Today, however, it was not 
Henry Gill’s old Ford for which Debby was watch¬ 
ing, but a red and tan roadster, with Eric Anderson 
at the wheel. For it was Saturday again, and she had 
told him last week that he might come. All day Debby 
had been torn between the hope that he would and 
the fear that he might. It seemed impossible that Aunt 
Retta would really speak to Eric about the disappear¬ 
ance of those wretched beads, but Aunt Retta’s tongue 
was quick and her feelings strong, and Debby had 
decided that she could not risk having Eric in the 
house today. When she should see his car on the road, 
she would run down to meet him at the gate, and 
would take him into the garden. It was such a beauti¬ 
ful day that this would not seem an unnatural thing to 
do. 

So she sat at her window, her eyes on the spot far 
down the road where cars came for a moment into the 
open, before disappearing among the elms of the 
Stebbins hill, her thoughts in a turmoil. Oh, they 
couldn’t ever let Great-grandmother go, said Debby 
to herself, over and over, and yet and yet—money— 
Art School and opportunity—Eric had said that it 
would be best for Great-grandmother, too—that 
she would be cherished and adored for always—but 
the drawing-room, the place over the mantel that 
would be empty—the beautiful face gone, the friend¬ 
liest thing in the whole house—that color never there 



A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 161 


when you looked in— Oh, no, they mustn’t even 
think of it— And yet—and yet— 

As she sat there watching for Eric, her mind going 
round and round in a circle, Debby came to a sudden 
decision. She would try to sell the old sea-chest. It 
was her very own and she could. She would ask Eric 
Anderson today if he could help her to find a pur¬ 
chaser. If she could get enough for the chest to eke 
out the scholarship, she might apply for it now, with¬ 
out waiting for another year, and there need be no 
question about the portrait. For she knew well enough 
that it was Aunt Nelly’s determination that she should 
have a chance to study that was responsible for the 
scene in the south parlor this afternoon. Much as she 
cared for the old sea-chest, it was not like Great¬ 
grandmother’s portrait. 

So Debby, by the window, waited eagerly for the 
moment when Eric’s car should come in sight, but the 
afternoon wore on, and there was no sign of the red 
and tan roadster. The house was very still, except for 
the far-away sound of Polly, practising The Carnival 
of Venice on the piano in the south parlor. The au¬ 
tumn sun dipped lower and lower behind the elms, into 
a bank of dark clouds, and the beautiful afternoon bid 
fair to end dismally. At last it was after five, and 
Debby knew that Eric would not come that day. 
Perhaps he would not come again ever, and who could 
blame him, after the way he had been treated last 
week, thought Debby, a little bitterly, as she got up and 


162 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


went to the mirror to smooth her hair. She must go 
down and prepare the supper to-night, as she always 
did when Aunt Nell had a headache. 

In the hall she stopped a moment to look in at the 
other door, but Aunt Nell, who was still lying on 
the couch with the moist cloth over her eyes, did not 
speak. Debby went down the stairs feeling very low 
in her mind. As she tip-toed through the hall on the 
second floor, she heard Aunt Retta’s voice from be¬ 
hind the partly closed door. 

"Deborah,” she called, "will you please tell Polly to 
stop drumming on the piano and go on with her 
practising.” The Carnival of Venice had for the 
moment given away to Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, 
which Polly was apparently picking out with one 
finger. "And I shall not want anything to eat to¬ 
night,” added Aunt Retta, as Debby went on down 
the hall. 

Debby had made up her mind that since she could 
not see Eric Anderson, she would write to him about 
the sea-chest this very night, and as there would be 
almost no supper to get, with both her aunts upstairs, 
she would begin the letter at once, before she had time 
to change her mind. So she went directly to her 
workshop, without even looking into the south parlor. 
As soon as there had been approaching footsteps on 
the stairs, the strains of The Carnival of Venice had 
once more begun to drift through the house. 

Debby sat down at the table in the studio, switched 
on the light, and took pen and paper from the drawer. 


A LETTER COMES AND A LETTER GOES 163 


Dear Mr. Anderson (she wrote in her clear, 
round hand), 

I have decided to try to sell my old sea-chest, 
the one you saw on Community Day, you know, 
and I am wondering if you could tell me how I 
should go about it, and about what it is worth. 
Thank you so much for all you have done. I 
hope that asking you to do something more will 
not be trespassing too much on your time— 

Debby laid down her pen, and read over what she 
had written. She was not at all satisfied with it. 
There were too many "abouts,” and "trespassing” 
sounded exactly like Aunt Retta. But after all, what 
did it matter? She was nothing to Eric Anderson, 
very likely he had dismissed her from his mind, and 
she shouldn’t see him again. She did hope, though, 
that he would help her about the chest. Quickly she 
picked up her pen and signed the letter: 

Very sincerely, 
Deborah Stebbins 

And thus Debby wrote her second letter to Eric. 

When she had sealed the envelope, she put it into the 
drawer of the table, and went out into the kitchen. 
Polly, who had finished her practising, was already 
there. 

"Do you want me to mail your letter for you?” said 
Polly at once. 

"No,” said Debby, with unnecessary emphasis. 

Then she looked at Polly, standing in the middle 
of the big kitchen. Polly had a gift for knowing when 



164 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


to look wistful. The afternoon had been lonesome and 
dull, and Debby’s heart relented. 

"Come on, Pollykins,” she said. "We’ll have crack¬ 
ers and milk out here. You can set the table, and I’ll 
get some spiced peaches. Aunt Nelly won’t mind.” 

"Oh, goody,” said Polly, cheering up at once, for 
Aunt Nell’s spiced peaches were the very best things 
that ever were tasted. 

So Debby and Polly ate a cosy supper together at 
the kitchen table, and afterwards they played parchesi 
in the south parlor until Polly’s bed-time. Just be¬ 
fore she locked the front door for the night, Debby 
ran out through the rain, to put the letter to Eric in 
the mail-box, and then before she went upstairs she 
stood for several minutes in the drawing-room, look¬ 
ing at the bright, serene face over the mantel. "All 
will yet go well with the Stebbins,” Great-grand¬ 
mother seemed to say, and Debby, cheered as she al¬ 
ways was when she felt that lovely presence in the 
room, turned and went hopefully upstairs. 



Chapter Twelve 

WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 

T^\ebby had need of all her natural hopefulness dur- 
' ing the week that followed the receipt of the 
letter about Great-grandmother’s portrait, for she 
thought it the most unpleasant week that she had 
ever lived through since she came to Bellport. In the 
first place, Aunt Nell’s headache persisted for two 
whole days, and when Aunt Nell was upstairs, things 
always limped along dismally in the household, no 
matter how hard everybody tried to be helpful and 
efficient. The fish chowder boiled over on the stove, 
prunes burned dry in the sauce-pan, and Polly dropped 


165 




















166 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


the lamb stew in the middle of the Persian rug in the 
dining-room. 

Aunt Retta, moreover, was in an even more for¬ 
bidding frame of mind than usual. She strode about 
the house with a critical eye for all that went wrong, 
and a tongue more ready and quick than ever. The 
truth was that poor Miss Henrietta was thoroughly 
upset. For almost the first time in her life she had 
misgivings about her own judgment, and to distrust 
herself was the most upsetting experience that could 
come to Miss Henrietta. She had been greatly shocked 
by Miss Eleanor’s unexpected attitude about the por¬ 
trait, but although she told herself over and over that 
Nell was utterly in the wrong, that what had been 
said under stress of emotion should be dismissed with¬ 
out further thought, that of course the portrait should 
never leave the house under any conditions, never¬ 
theless, Miss Henrietta could not forget what her sister 
had said. "Oh, we have always cared too much for 
things, they are not the most precious, it’s Debby and 
Polly. We have no right to deny them for our own 
pride.” 

The longer she thought about it, the more Miss 
Henrietta began to wonder, quite against her will, 
whether after all Nell might not be partly right. Miss 
Henrietta loved her nieces too, in her own way, 
especially Polly. They were Stebbins, and therefore 
very precious, as Nell had said. Their well-being was 
a matter which Miss Henrietta had indeed felt heavy 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 


167 


upon her, ever since the never-to-be-forgotten day 
when the Judge had driven up to the door of the Steb- 
bins mansion, bringing the two orphan girls back to the 
old home which they had never seen. Were she and 
Nell indeed not doing their duty by these children? 
Duty had always been for Miss Henrietta a beacon 
light, duty to her family, to their possessions, to all 
that had made the Stebbins name honored and re¬ 
spected in Bellport for a hundred and fifty years and 
more. Was it really their duty to sacrifice the most 
beautiful thing from those Stebbins of the past, for 
these Stebbins of the present. 

"Oh, no, no,” said Miss Henrietta to herself, with 
a fresh revulsion of feeling, whenever her thoughts 
brought her back to this point of decision. The more 
she turned it all over in her mind, the more distracted 
she became, and the more uncertain grew her tem¬ 
per. When Miss Eleanor finally came, a little limply, 
downstairs at the end of the third day, she was shocked 
at the appearance of her sister. 

"You are very tired, Henrietta,” she said. "I think 
you should go to bed yourself.” 

"I am quite as usual,” replied Miss Henrietta, with 
her customary briskness. "These warm days in the 
fall never suit me.” 

But no word was spoken of the portrait, and Debby 
felt sure, as the week drew to a close, that no answer 
had yet been written to the letter from the Columbian 
Museum. Nor had any letter come from Eric, in 


168 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


regard to the old sea-chest. Probably, thought Debby, 
he had passed the Stebbins and all their affairs over 
to this other official of the museum. And yet, it was 
not like Eric not to answer in some way a personal 
request. More than once during that dismal week, 
Debby opened her table drawer, and took out and re¬ 
read Eric’s first letter—"I shall be glad to be of any 
service I can.” 

But when Saturday came around again, and she had 
had no word, Debby began to feel sure that she should 
not hear from Eric again. Well, she must just put 
him and all the experiences of the last month out of 
her mind, and take up life afresh. The incident was 
closed, that was all. It was already the middle of 
September, and work at the Academy would soon 
begin. She would make all she could out of this winter, 
and perhaps next year she should somehow manage to 
go to the museum, if Eric—but she must not think 
of Eric any more. 

So Debby went about her morning work with almost 
her old gaiety of spirit. It was easier to be cheerful, 
for the unseasonably muggy heat of the last few days 
had ended in a crisp frost the night before, and today 
was cool and delicious, with golden autumn sunshine 
flooding into the house through the wide old windows. 
Aunt Nell seemed quite herself again, and even Aunt 
Retta looked less grim, although there was still about 
her, as about the whole household, the constraint 
caused by a subject that was in everybody’s mind, and 
yet was never mentioned. 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 


169 


When luncheon was over, Debby went into her 
workshop and packed the piles of drawing papers 
that lay sorted on the table into her brief case. She 
would take them up to the Academy this afternoon, 
and arrange them, all ready for the beginning of the 
fall term. Perhaps Miss Holmes, the head of her 
department, would be there, and they could go over 
some of the work together. It would be fun to get 
into the harness again, to be working with the children 
who loved to draw, instead of with those tiresome 
dishes and sauce-pans at home—although, poor Aunt 
Nell, it would mean just so much more work for her. 
Debby was actually humming to herself, as she went 
up the two long flights to her room. 

The air coming in through the window was still 
crisp with the night’s frost, so Debby dressed herself 
in the rose-color wool suit, which Aunt Nell had knit 
for her in the spring. She put on the jaunty wool cap 
that matched the suit, and on her arm, she drew a 
slender carved rose-color bracelet, a treasure for which 
she had spent Aunt Nell’s birthday money, and which 
she valued far beyond its worth. It seemed to give the 
last touch to the costume, and Debby set forth into 
. the keen, sweet autumn day, feeling altogether festive. 

She walked down the hill under the elms, until she 
came to the road to the left, which led up another 
gentle slope to the Academy. As soon as she turned 
the corner, Debby could see the mellow old brick 
buildings rising above the sugar maples, which had 
already begun to flame with the brightness of autumn. 


170 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Across the road stretched fields still yellow with 
goldenrod, clear away to the blue of the sky. Debby 
drew a long breath for sheer happiness at the gorgeous 
Color on every side. 

As she began the ascent of the hill, she heard a car 
coming along behind her. She wondered who it could 
be, for except when the Academy was in session, there 
was little traffic on this side road. It certainly did not 
sound like Henry Gill’s Ford. Probably it was the 
Judge, for he was a trustee of the Academy, and 
took a great interest in its affairs. If it were, he would 
surely stop and give her a lift, for the Judge and 
Debby were great friends. She did not look around, 
however, lest it should be somebody else, who might 
take her for a hitch-hiker. In a moment she heard the 
car slowing down and drawing up beside her, and she 
turned with a smile to greet Judge Parker. But it was 
not the Judge who received the smile. 

"Well, if that wasn’t a stroke of luck!” said Eric 
Anderson, jumping out of the red and tan roadster, 
and holding out his hand. "I just happened to glance 
up this road, to see whether I’d hit that cat that shot 
out from under my wheels and disappeared up here 
•—and lo, here were you!” 

Debby was quite unable to keep her pleasure out 
of her eyes. Eric had never looked to her so gay 
and friendly and broad-shouldered as he did today, 
straight and tall, with his bright hair gleaming in the 
sunshine. 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 171 

"It wasn’t a gray cat, was it?” said Debby, thinking 
fleetingly of Isaak Walton, who sometimes wandered 
far afield, but there was no real anxiety in her face. 

"It was a very common cat,” said Eric, his eyes on 
Debby. "I am sure it wasn’t yours. Jump in, and let 
me give you a lift.” 

A moment later she was sitting beside him in the 
car. 

"Did you think that I forgot about coming last 
week?” said Eric, as they sped up the hill in the fresh 
breeze. "Well, I didn’t. I was just laid up. It was 
all beastly nonsense, but Mother came down from the 
Harbor, and made a great fuss and kept me in bed, so 
that I couldn’t even answer your letter. I’m no end 
sorry.” 

"What a shame,” said Debby, looking at him in 
quick sympathy. "Are you quite all right now?” 

"Bounced up like a cork,” said Eric. "And now 
they’ve given me until Wednesday off, and you better 
believe the first thing I did was to make a bee-line 
for you and the sea-chest. I’m sure I can help you 
about it.” 

"Oh, that would be wonderful,” said Debby, as 
they drew up in front of the Academy building, and 
Eric opened the door for her. 

"May I wait for you?” he said, as he handed her 
the brief case. 

"Thank you lots,” said Debby. "If you really can. 
I have only to leave these things.” 


172 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


She ran quickly up the old brown-stone steps and 
through the door. Over it, carved into the stone, 
were the words Joseph Stebbins Hall , in honor of 
Debby’s great-great-grandfather, who had given the 
first money for the Academy. Debby was afraid now 
that she should meet Miss Holmes, and so be detained, 
but the dusty old corridor was quite empty, save for 
the janitor and his helpers, who were busy with mops 
and pails. There was fortunately nobody in the art 
room, and when she had left her papers, Debby went 
swiftly back down the hall, without so much as 
glancing into any of the other rooms. 

"Now may we go and look at the chest again ?” said 
Eric, as he slammed the door of the car and started the 
motor. 

Debby, at a loss what to say, felt the ever-ready 
color coming into her face. How could she let Eric 
come to the house until she felt more sure of Aunt 
Retta. 

"It’s good of you,” she said, with a little hesitation. 
"I do want to sell the chest, very much. But my aunts 
have not been quite well, so perhaps we would better 
not go to look at it today. Must—must you see it 
again?” 

"Well, I should like to,” said Eric, looking at her 
in some surprise. "But that’s all right of course. I 
can see it another time.” 

There was silence for a moment or two, as the car 
slid down the road under the sugar maples. 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 173 

"Will you let me off in the village, please. I have 
an errand to do before I go home,” said Debby, feeling 
the brightness slipping out of the day. 

"HI take you on your errand,” said Eric promptly, 
"And then we’ll go for a ride—that is, unless you have 
something else to do.” 

"No,” laughed Debby, "nothing as nice as that.” 

A few minutes later they were bowling along the 
road that led to Bellport Harbor. 

"There has been a school of whales just off shore 
for a few days,” said Eric. "They seem to be after 
the small fish that are running thick. So watching 
whales is the principal out-door sport at the Harbor 
just now. What do you say, shall we go to see them 
too?” 

"Oh, that would be fun,” said Debby, who felt 
that the brightness had all come back into the day. 

It was indeed an afternoon of such clear beauty 
as only a Maine September can bring. The road ran at 
times close to the broad river, sparkling blue against 
its fringe of dark spruces; then inland again, to where 
the maples and sumach and blueberry bushes in the 
high pastures flamed out in the cool sunshine against 
the browns and dusty greens of the autumn landscape. 

"Oh, it makes one simply ache to paint and paint,” 
said Debby. 

"And perhaps that is what you will be doing very 
soon,” said Eric, "somewhere else—and things more 
lovely even than this.” 




174 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"I don’t think so,” said Debby, her face clouding. 

"But I do,” said Eric. "For you are going to apply 
for that scholarship this year, you know. I just shan’t 
let you tell me that you aren’t. We are going to 
arrange it somehow. You’re sure of that, aren’t you?” 
And as he spoke, he took his eyes from the road a 
moment, and turned to Debby with a grave intensity 
that fairly startled her. As soon as he looked at her 
the gaiety came back into his face, "You said, you 
know, that I could 'give points to Aunt Retta!’ Well, 
when you know me better, you will find that I can!” 

Debby laughed. But she would not speak again of 
the museum. They talked of other things, and of 
themselves. Eric spoke of his work at the museum, 
and of his college days, now several years behind him. 
He must, thought Debby, making a swift calculation, 
be at least eight years older than she. Did he, she 
wondered, with a little sigh, think of her as a child, 
like Polly. Looking at the profile beside her, set al¬ 
ready in firm lines of maturity, for all its fine sensitive¬ 
ness, Debby hoped that Eric did not find her too young 
for friendship. 

The miles ran swiftly from under the wheels of the 
roadster, and with every mile the fresh salt tang in the 
air grew stronger. Then at the crest of a hill, the open 
ocean came all at once into view, a long stretch of 
dazzling blue, dotted with green islands and snow- 
white sails. In a minute they had coasted down the last 
long slope to the harbor itself. There were no stately 
mansions here, or wharves where clipper ships had once 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 


175 


been moored. Bellport Harbor was only a cluster of 
poor fishermen’s huts and gray old fish-houses along 
the quiet cove, with a picturesque inn on the slope 
above, and half a dozen summer cottages by the outer 
rocks at the mouth of the harbor. 

Eric drove rapidly along the cove toward these rocks, 
where groups of people were standing and looking out 
to sea. 

"There they are!” cried Debby suddenly, as the 
car came out on the bluff at the end of the road, in 
full view of the open sea. "The whales! See, right this 
side of the bell-buoy.” And with one accord, she and 
Eric opened the doors of the car and jumped out. 

Before them the surface of the ocean seemed to be 
strangely agitated, and even as they looked at it, an 
enormous dark slippery back appeared for a moment 
on top of the water, not five hundred yards from 
where they stood. There was an odd snorting sound, 
the momentary flourish of a huge fan-like tail, and 
the great hulk slid slowly under the surface again, 
only to reappear a moment later even nearer shore. 

"If Jonah were only there it would be perfect!” 
said Debby. 

"There he is now—two of him,” said Eric, pointing 
to some small boys in a flat-bottom boat, who were 
rowing out of the harbor as fast as they could, directly 
toward the whales. "They go out every day to see if 
they can get swallowed, but apparently the up-to-date 
whale has lost the taste for Jonahs.” 

Debby now saw that two of the people on the rocks 


176 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


below had detached themselves from the group, and 
were walking up the path to the top of the bluff. 

"There are Mother and Edith,” said Eric. "I want 
you to meet them.” 

"Oh,” said Debby in surprise. She was always 
diffident about meeting strangers, and this possibility 
had not occurred to her. 

But it was all pleasantly over in a moment. Mrs. 
Anderson came forward, hand outstretched, with the 
same friendliness that had made Debby feel at once 
at home with Eric. She was tall like her son, with the 
same strong, sensitive face, sweetened by the years and 
softened by her white hair. 

"I am so glad to meet you,” said Mrs. Anderson 
cordially. "Eric has told me that you may be in¬ 
terested in coming to our museum sometime. I am 
sure that you will find friends already waiting for you 
when you come to the city.” 

Then she introduced her daughter, a fair quiet girl, 
evidently somewhat older than Debby, though 
younger than Eric. Mrs. Anderson seemed to have a 
gift for making people comfortable. She sent Eric 
to get his coat from the car, for Debby to put over 
her shoulders in the cold wind, and began at once to 
tell of the many pleasant things about the school at 
the museum. In a few minutes Debby, shy as she 
was, found herself chatting with the Andersons as if 
she had known them all her life. Standing between 
Eric and Edith, with Eric’s coat about her, and the 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 


177 


sharp delicious wind from the sea blowing in her face, 
Debby thought that she had never before been so 
happy. 

When they had watched the whales long enough to 
be sure that the flat-bottom boat would make the 
harbor again safely, and that the two little Jonahs 
would not be swallowed that day, at least, Mrs. An¬ 
derson led the way back to the Inn. There, sitting at 
a table on the terrace, with the wide beauty of the 
ocean still before them, they had the jolliest kind of 
a party, with tea and toast and brownies, almost, 
Debby thought, better than Aunt Nelly’s. Then be¬ 
fore it was time to go Debby discovered that Edith An¬ 
derson was to begin lessons at the Museum School as 
soon as they went home. 

"I hope that you two may have a chance to work 
together this year,” said Mrs. Anderson, as they 
walked out to the car. It was funny, thought Debby, 
how they all assumed that she was of course going 
to the Art School. "And Eric must bring you down 
here again some day, my dear. Perhaps we can have 
a picnic on the rocks.” 

Then she and Edith waved a good-bye, and Debby 
and Eric drove away along the harbor road. What a 
contrast, said Debby to herself, with a pang, to the 
welcome which Eric had received at the Stebbins 
mansion. 

Though they talked less on the way home than be¬ 
fore, Debby felt that theirs was the quiet comradeship 


178 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


of accepted friends. Once again the thought flitted 
across her mind that perhaps he thought her young 
and inexperienced, but almost immediately, as if he 
read her mind, 

“I hope,” he said, "that you and Edith will see some¬ 
thing of each other at the school. She’s a pretty good 
sport when you get to know her, and I’m sure you can 
help her a lot. She’s interested in portraits too, but 
she’s not as far ahead as you are, by a long shot.” 

"I should like to know her,” said Debby, a little sorry 
that the subject of portraits had been broached. But 
Eric said no word about Great-grandmother, and 
Debby was silently grateful for his tact. 

And so they rode along through the glow of the 
autumn sunset. Once they stopped by the side of the 
road, in order that they might hunt on the floor of 
the car for the rose-colored bracelet that had some¬ 
how slipped from Debby’s arm. They did not find it, 
but the search added to their moments together. 

"I’m awfully sorry about that,” said Eric, as they 
took their seats again. 

"It doesn’t matter at all,” said Debby, surprised to 
find how little she cared. "It was just a small thing 
that I bought in Bellport.” 

Ten minutes later their car drew up at the Stebbins 
mansion. 

"May I come again some day before Wednesday,” 
said Eric from the roadster, as Debby stood with her 
hand upon the gate. For the moment she forgot the 


WHALES AND OTHER THINGS 179 

sea-chest, and the beads, and the portrait, and all the 
difficulties with Aunt Retta. 

"Yes,” she said, her brown eyes very clear and 
bright. "And thank you for my afternoon.” 

Then she turned and went quickly through the 
gate. But as she walked up the path, humming a happy 
tune, she did not guess how soon or where she should 
next see Eric. 





Chapter Thirteen 

POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 

E ric Anderson drove swiftly down the hill from 
the Stebbins’ mansion into the town, but when he 
came to lower Main Street he slackened speed, and be¬ 
gan to look carefully at the signs above the row of 
shops. Then, with a sudden twist of his wheel, he ran 
the roadster in among the cars that were parked against 
the curb, and jumped out. Directly in front of him 
was a door, on the glass of which were painted the 
words: 

MISS HOPKINS 

THREAD-AND-NEEDLE SHOPPE 
GIFTS AND SOUVENIRS 


180 










POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


181 


Eric opened the door and went in. It was a rather 
dark little shop in the late afternoon light, and at first 
he thought that there was nobody in it. Then all at 
once, to his astonishment, he saw Polly behind the 
counter at the rear, perched on a high stool, her head 
bent intently upon something in her lap. On the 
counter before her lay an open book, at which she 
glanced from moment to moment. So absorbed was 
Polly in what she was doing that she did not even 
notice the opening of the door. 

"Hello, Florence Nightingale,” said Eric. 

"Oh!” said Polly, looking up with a start. 

As soon as she saw who it was, her face was sud¬ 
denly softened by a very wide smile. Had Eric only 
known how seldom Polly smiled like that, he would 
have felt highly complimented. 

"Whatever are you doing here?” said Eric. "I 
thought your life was spent in errands of mercy. Are 
you in trade too?” 

"Just on Saturdays,” explained Polly. "Miss Hop¬ 
kins has to go out in the afternoon, so I keep store 
for her. Can you tie a sheep-shank?” And Polly 
slipped off her stool, and held out the piece of rope in 
her hand. "It’s ever so much harder than the other 
knots,” she said. "There’s a picture of it in the Scout 
book, but mine won’t come out that way.” 

Eric picked up the book from the counter and 
studied the picture, while Polly looked at him hope¬ 
fully. 


182 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"'Let’s see the rope,” he said after a minute, putting 
down the book. 

Polly handed him the piece of rope, and watched 
intently while the swift, sure fingers made the knot. 

"You’re smart, aren’t you?” said Polly, in open 
admiration. 

"Just been a sailor all my life,” said Eric. "Now 
you try. We’ll go slowly. See, you cross your hands 
and take hold of the rope like this.” 

And leaning over the counter, he directed the slim 
brown fingers in the way they should go. He re¬ 
membered how skillful they had been on the day when 
he twisted his ankle, and it amused him to see with 
what deftness they now handled the rope. In a very 
few minutes Polly could tie a proper sheep-shank as 
unerringly as Eric himself. 

"Thank you,” she said. "It was lucky you came in.” 

Then, as Eric continued to stand by the counter, 
examining the things in the glass case, Polly remem¬ 
bered her duties as shop-keeper. 

"Do you want to buy something?” she asked. 

"I’m looking for a bracelet,” said Eric, "carved 
wood and a pinkish color. Do you keep them in this 
shop?” 

"Yes,” said Polly at once, "like Debby’s. She got 
hers here.” 

"That’s it,” said Eric. 

"Oh,” said Polly, in frank astonishment. She did 
wonder what Eric wanted a bracelet for. Could he 


POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


183 


be buying one for another girl? Didn’t he like Debby 
any more? Polly’s face looked a little sharper than 
usual, as she stared at Eric from behind the counter. 
Then she recalled herself to her duties again, and 
quickly climbed the step-ladder beside her, and took a 
box from a high shelf. 

"Do you want it exactly like Debby’s?” asked Polly, 
as she set out the contents of the box on the counter. 

"Yes,” said Eric, looking the trinkets over. 

Polly had hoped that there would not be one just 
like Debby’s, for that other girl, but there was. 

"Here it is,” said Eric, picking up one of the brace¬ 
lets. "It’s the same size as your sister’s, isn’t it?” 

Polly examined it, 

"Yes,” she said reluctantly. 

"Good,” said Eric. "I’ll take it. How much is it?” 

"Seventy-five cents,” said Polly, stiffly. 

She wrapped up the bracelet in a piece of white 
paper, and tied it carefully with a string. 

"You needn’t tie a sheep-shank,” he said, with a 
smile. 

Then he took a dollar out of his bill-fold, and laid it 
on the counter. 

"Just keep the change,” he said, "for the hospital 
endowment, you know,” he added, as Polly looked 
doubtfully at the dollar. She was not at all sure that 
it would be loyal to Debby to accept that quarter. 

A moment later, however, her doubts were resolved. 

"Would you do me a favor?” said Eric. "Would 


184 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


you mind taking the bracelet to your sister from me, in 
case we can’t find the other one.” 

"Oh,” said Polly, in a tone of relief. "Did Debby 
lose hers?” 

"Yes,” said Eric, "when we were out driving this 
afternoon.” And although his mind was not very 
much on Polly, he did wonder absently at the wide 
smile with which she suddenly beamed upon him 
again, as she put the bracelet into the pocket of her 
Scout suit. "Well, good-bye, Florence Nightingale,” 
he said, and he was just turning from the counter, 
when he suddenly paused. "By the way,” he added, 
"I almost forgot. I have a bone to pick with you, 
young lady. What did you mean by putting that turtle 
in my hat?” 

Polly giggled. 

"It wasn’t any worse than your putting it in the 
drawer,” she retorted. 

"Isn’t that where you kept it?” said Eric. "The 
drawer was open. Didn’t you find Mr. Turtle all 
right?” 

"No,” said Polly, "Aunt Retta did, when she went 
to look for the gold beads, and was she hopping!” Polly 
grinned at the remembrance. "But it was mostly be¬ 
cause she thought the beads had been stolen,” she 
added, as an after-thought, anxious to reassure Eric 
about the turtle. Then suddenly she felt a little 
scared, for she remembered that Aunt Retta had ac¬ 
cused Eric himself. 


POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


185 


He was staring down at her now from the other 
side of the counter. All at once Polly felt that Eric 
was looking right into her mind, and reading there 
the things that Aunt Retta had said. Polly had never 
seen such clear, searching eyes. It seemed to her that 
there was an accusing look in them too, as if Eric had 
guessed the truth from what she had just said. Polly 
caught her breath. Perhaps he thought that she be¬ 
lieved, like Aunt Retta, that he was a thief. Oh, she 
could not bear to have him think that, for he was the 
very nicest man she had ever met. She wanted to have 
him smile and be friends again. It had been so jolly 
when he had first come into the shop, and helped her 
with the knot. With eyes more intensely black than 
usual, she looked up into his face. 

"But I don’t think you stole anything, ever” said 
Polly, carried away by her feelings. 

"Stole? What?” said Eric, so sharply that Polly 
jumped. 

"The gold beads—in the drawer,” faltered Polly, 
almost against her will. 

"You mean,” said Eric quickly, "that they think 
I took something out of the drawer?” His face was 
graver than ever, and those gray eyes seemed to hold 
Polly’s as in a vise, so that she could not look away. 

"Ye—es,” she said. "But I know you never did,” 
she repeated helplessly. 

Eric turned abruptly on his heel and strode without 
another word across the shop and out into the street. 



186 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Polly, dismayed at this unhappy ending to a pleasant 
afternoon, and a good deal scared at what had hap¬ 
pened, ran around the counter to the door. By the 
time she reached it, however, Eric was already in the 
roadster and starting the engine. Polly ran out on the 
sidewalk. 

"Debby doesn’t think you stole them either,” she 
shouted shrilly, feeling that some amends must be 
made. 

Eric, however, paid no attention. Perhaps he did 
not hear her above the noise of the engine, for the 
car was now backing swiftly into the middle of the 
street. Polly saw that it was turning toward the hill 
that led to the Stebbins mansion. But suddenly it 
stopped, and Eric, a frown on his face that seemed to 
Polly at that distance very stern indeed, appeared for 
a moment to be considering. Then, with a quick 
twist of the wheel, he turned the car right about, 
and rolled away down the street in the direction of 
Bellport Harbor. 

For once in her life Polly was really frightened at 
what she had done—frightened and very miserable. 
She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, her hands 
clenched at her sides, looking in despair after the red- 
and-tan roadster, until it disappeared into the covered 
bridge over Salt Creek. As she turned back to the 
shop, Miss Hopkins came hurrying up to the door, 
wind-blown and out of breath. 

'Tm sorry I was late about getting back, Polly,” 


POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


187 


she said. "You would better run along now, or your 
aunts will think something has happened to you/’ 

As she spoke, Miss Hopkins fumbled for her purse 
among the parcels in her Boston bag, "Here’s your 
money for today, Polly,” she said, "and an extra 
nickel for over-time. Don’t forget next Saturday.” 

"No,” said Polly absently, taking the coins which 
Miss Hopkins held out to her, and she walked away 
up Main Street without further words. 

It was not until she reached the foot of Stebbins 
hill, and stopped for a moment to count the money 
still clasped in her hand, that she remembered she 
had not thanked Miss Hopkins for the nickel, or even 
said goodnight. Polly enjoyed keeping store, and she 
did hope that Miss Hopkins would not be offended. 
Aunt Retta was particular about manners, and Polly 
was debating whether she ought to go back and thank 
Miss Hopkins now, or whether it would do to wait 
until after church to-morrow, when she suddenly saw 
Debby hurrying down the hill toward her. 

"Do you know what time it is, Polly Stebbins?” 
said Debby, as she came up to the little figure loiter¬ 
ing under the elms. "Supper has been ready for ten 
minutes, and Aunt Retta is very much annoyed 
again.” 

"I couldn’t help it,” said Polly, quite without her 
usual spirit. "Miss Hopkins didn’t get back until 
late.” 

"Well, come on,” said Debby, starting back up the 


188 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


hill. "'You can walk a little faster now, can’t you?” 

But Polly followed on lagging feet. After a few 
minutes, however, she caught up with her sister. 

"Oh, Debby,” she said, with a return of her usual 
gusto, "Fve got something for you.” And she took 
out of her pocket the little white parcel. 

"What is it?” said Debby in surprise, standing still 
under the elms, while she quickly pulled off the string 
and paper. 

"It’s from Eric,” said Polly. "He told me to give 
it to you, in case you don’t find the other.” 

Even in the dusk of the fall evening Polly could 
make out the added color that came into Debby’s 
cheeks, as she looked at Eric’s bracelet in her hand. 
It seemed that for the moment Debby, too, had for¬ 
gotten supper and Aunt Retta. 

"Did he come into the shop? Did you wait on 
him?” she asked eagerly. 

Polly nodded her head, but she would not talk any 
more about Eric, or about anything else. All the way 
up the hill Debby wondered what could be the mat¬ 
ter. Although Polly no longer lagged behind, she 
walked beside her sister in silence—and, as Debby well 
knew, Polly was not often silent. Perhaps she was 
worried about being late again. 

"I’ll tell Aunt Retta that you couldn’t help it,” 
said Debby, wanting, in her own happiness, to have 
Polly happy too. 

But the tumult in Polly’s mind had nothing to do 



POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


189 


with supper. Like Aunt Retta, she was feeling for 
almost the first time not quite self-sufficient, and it 
was very upsetting. It seemed to her that she must 
tell Debby or somebody right away about Eric, and 
ask them what to do. It was not, however, until she 
and Debby were actually at the front gate that Polly 
said, quite suddenly: 

"I think Eric knows about it.” 

"Knows about what?” asked Debby, pausing with 
her hand upon the gate. 

"That—that—people think he stole the beads.” 

"How could he?” said Debby, in utter astonish¬ 
ment. "Besides, 'p e °pl e> don’t think so—only Aunt 
Retta, and he couldn’t possibly know that unless 
somebody told him.” Suddenly she bent forward. 
"Polly Stebbins,” she demanded, so sternly that it did 
not sound like Debby at all, "did you tell Eric Ander¬ 
son that he was suspected of stealing those beads? 
The truth, now!” 

"Well,” said Polly slowly, her hands clasped tightly 
behind her, her eyes avoiding Debby’s, "not exactly. 
He—he sort of—guessed it.” 

"That’s nonsense,” said Debby, in a voice that 
choked a little. "He couldn’t have. You told him. 
And you’re a bad girl. I wouldn’t have believed a real 
sister could act like that!” And opening the gate, 
Debby ran up the path into the house, leaving Polly 
to confront Aunt Retta by herself. 

It was a very dismal supper that evening at the Steb- 



190 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


bins mansion. Polly’s excuses, to be sure, were rather 
grudgingly accepted, but Aunt Retta was always a 
little stiff when supper was late, and as for Debby, 
she hardly looked up from her plate during the entire 
meal. Nor would she say a word afterwards, while she 
and Polly were doing the dishes together. With set 
face and eyes unnaturally bright, she moved about 
the kitchen quite as if Polly were not there at all, 
and as if the spoons and glasses were drying them¬ 
selves, instead of with the help of Polly’s ever-ready 
towel. As soon as the last dish had been put away, 
Debby slipped quietly up the back stairs, without 
even going in to say goodnight to her aunts. Polly 
followed her to the foot of the stairs. 

"Debby,” she called forlornly up into the darkness, 
"Debby, I want to say something.” 

But the answer from the upper hall was not en¬ 
couraging. 

"I don’t want to speak to you, Polly,” said Debby 
in a muffled voice, "or see you.” 

Then she was gone. 

Long after her aunts had also gone up to their 
rooms for the night, Polly lay wide awake, curled up 
in a small miserable bunch in the middle of her spool- 
bed. Polly usually enjoyed her encounters with the 
world, and no tilt with Aunt Retta, or even with Eric 
Anderson, would have kept her staring wide-eyed into 
the darkness. But to have Debby really angry with 


POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


191 


her brought Polly’s world crashing about her ears. 
And never had she seen Debby so angry. Deep down 
in Polly’s funny, perverse little heart was an immense 
well of devotion for her sister. Polly secretly thought 
Debby the most beautiful and charming person that 
had ever lived, and although Debby herself did not 
in the least suspect it, Polly was ever ready, at a mo¬ 
ment’s notice, to take sides with her sister against all 
the world. But now, thought Polly, writhing be¬ 
neath her candlewick spread, she had driven Eric 
Anderson away, she had spoiled everything, and 
Debby would not even speak to her—all because she, 
Polly, had not been smart enough to keep a secret. 
Polly did not like not being smart, but she always told 
the truth to herself as well as to other people, and she 
had to admit, alone there in the dark, that for once • 
she had been very, very foolish. This seemed to fill her 
cup of bitterness full to the brim. 

Suddenly Polly was shaken by a big, unexpected 
sob. For a minute she was afraid that she was going 
to cry, and she hated crying. She sat up straight in bed 
and swallowed, and tried to think of some way to 
make up with Debby. After a moment she threw 
back the clothes and slid out of bed. Ever so softly 
she opened the door into the hall. The night-light was 
burning on the little table at the top of the stairs, 
where Aunt Retta always left it, and Polly stepping 
quietly into the hall in her bare feet, went as fast as 


192 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


she could down the long stairs and through the still, 
shadowy house to the closet in the back hall. She 
groped around in it until she found a duster. Then 
she tip-toed across to Debby’s work-shop, and slipped 
through the half-open door. She closed it carefully 
and switched on the light. It seemed cold and a bit 
spooky down there, quite by herself, in the middle of 
the night, and the dry branches of something outside 
made tiny, unpleasant, scrapy sounds against the win¬ 
dow. Polly shivered a little in her blue cotton pajamas, 
but she set resolutely to work at once. 

First she dusted the table thoroughly from top to 
bottom, and arranged all the papers on it in neat piles. 
Then she dusted the old chest and the chair, kneeling 
on the cold floor, and conscientiously going over all 
the rounds. Next, she stood up on the chair and wiped 
all the glasses of jelly on the shelf, until they shone 
again, amber and crimson, in the bright light. And 
last of all, she polished up Debby’s old garden shoes 
with a brush from the hall closet. Hunched up on 
the chair, Polly rubbed and rubbed until her back was 
lame and her arms were sore. As she finally set the 
shoes side by side in the middle of the table, the clock 
in the hall struck one. It sounded so very loud and 
accusing that it made Polly jump and wish that she 
was safely upstairs. But before she tip-toed out into 
the great silent house again, she sat down in front of 
the shoes and wrote a note, which she pinned to the 
toes. 


POLLY TIES A HARD KNOT 


193 


Dear Debby (read the note), 

I couldn’t do them any better because there 
wasn’t any blacking, but I dusted everything in 
the room for you. 

Polly 

P.S. After this I’m going to act like a real sister. 

P. deC. S. 


Chapter Fourteen 

AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 

P olly was not the only one who lay awake that 
night in the Stebbins mansion, and stared wretch¬ 
edly up into the dark. In her big four-poster on the 
third floor Debby, too, turned and tossed, alternately 
trying to think things through, and to go to sleep and 
forget them. How could this happy day have ended 
in such utter misery? It seemed to Debby that she 
had reached the very peak of despair, compared to 
which the trouble with Aunt Retta, and the uncer¬ 
tainties about the portrait and Art School, were as 
nothing. To have Eric actually know that he was 
suspected of being a thief—after all his kindness—oh, 
it was just too much to be borne. 

Debby flung her head back and forth on the pillow, 
and beat her hands against the blanket. Perhaps he 
even believed that she suspected him. But no, she told 
herself, surely he would not think that, after their 
afternoon together. If she could only see Eric, she 
would make him sure that she did not distrust him. 


194 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


195 


Or had Polly perhaps told him that, after all? It oc¬ 
curred to Debby now that she had not questioned 
Polly very closely. She had been so angry with her at 
supper-time—and was still. How could the child 
have been so naughty and stupid? It was not like 
Polly to be stupid. In the morning, thought Debby, 
she must make her tell the whole story. And she must 
see Eric. She could not wait for him to come, for that 
might not be for several days. 

Suddenly Debby sat up in bed. She would go to 
Bellport Harbor right after breakfast and find him, 
and tell him everything, if she had to, even about 
Aunt Retta—although she was almost afraid that that 
would not be quite loyal. She would ask Judge Parker 
to let her take his car. Had he not told her, over and 
over, that he liked to see her behind his wheel; had he 
not beamed upon her when she backed skilfully out of 
his garage, and said that she was the best little driver in 
Bellport. He himself had taught her to drive, and they 
were always the best of friends. Surely he would let 
her have the car for just an hour or two, especially 
as he almost never used it himself early in the morn¬ 
ing. Then all at once she remembered that to-morrow 
was Sunday, and that the Judge always drove over to 
Thomaston to church. Besides, Aunt Retta never 
countenanced an absence from their own family pew 
on Sunday morning, except for illness. Well, then, she 
would try to get the car right after dinner—although 
she did not see how she could possibly wait as long as 



196 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


that. As she lay down again on her pillow, Debby felt 
calmer than for many hours. The decision as to what 
she would do had brought, as usual, a renewal of that 
spirit of confidence and cheer that was especially hers, 
and she soon went, exhausted, to sleep. 

The first thing that Debby did when she came 
downstairs in the morning was to go in search of Polly. 
In the fresh brightness of the warm September day, 
it seemed that all difficulties could soon be cleared 
away. But Polly was not to be found, either in the 
kitchen with Aunt Nell, or in the south parlor with 
Aunt Retta. Debby even glanced into the drawing¬ 
room as she went by the door, puzzled as to where 
Polly could be, for she never lay abed in the morning. 
But when she went into the workshop, there were the 
shoes and the note and the crumpled duster on the 
back of the chair. As she stood looking at the shoes, 
and the gleaming jellies, and the dark shiny cover of 
the old chest, Debby bit her lip, and a faint smile flick¬ 
ered across her face. It was hard to stay angry with 
Polly for long. 

Then all at once she noticed that the outer door was 
open into the garden, and that something was moving 
behind the barberry bushes just outside. There was 
a peep-hole among the red leaves, and two eyes were 
looking through. 

"Come here, please, Polly,” said Debby, still trying 
to sound stern, 'T want to talk to you.” 

Polly came out from behind the bushes immediately. 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


197 


She had seen the smile through the peep-hole, and she 
was sure that the worst was over. Standing before her 
sister in the workshop, she obediently told the whole 
story of her interview with Eric. The only thing that 
Polly did not tell was how very much she wanted 
Debby to be friends with her again. But Debby sensed 
this and her heart misgave her. There were dark 
circles to-day under the shoe-button eyes, and it was 
still a very subdued and repentant Polly. 

"And I ran out on the sidewalk,” she said in con¬ 
clusion, "and tried to tell him you didn’t think he was 
a thief either, but I guess he didn’t hear, though I 
shouted at him.” 

"You mean you shouted that right on Main Street?” 
said Debby, appalled. 

"Yes,” Polly reassured her, "as loud as ever I could.” 

For a moment Debby frowned sternly again. Then 
the frown cleared away. 

"Pollykins,” she said, suddenly putting both her 
hands on her sister’s shoulders, "you simply must learn 
to hold your tongue. But you were a good Scout and 
a real sister to fix up my room for me.” 

"I guess breakfast is ready,” said Polly suddenly, 
slipping from under Debby’s hands. And she ran 
across the hall to the kitchen, to help Aunt Nell with 
the toast. 

When breakfast was over Polly made all the beds, 
being very careful about the square corners, and she 
was waiting, quite spick and span, in the south parlor, 


198 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


when the others came down at half past ten. As she 
and Debby walked down the hill together to church, 
behind Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell, Polly thought that 
Debby had never looked so pretty. Her white dress 
was very soft and silky, and her turban very jaunty on 
her dark hair. Polly was in white too, but there was 
starch in her dress, and her hair, as usual, stuck out 
under her round hat, as if it also had been stiffened. 
It would be wonderful, thought Polly, to be old 
enough not to have starch in one’s best dress. Well, 
any way, she would be putting her surplice over it as 
soon as she got to church. 

For Polly sang in the children’s chorus, and sat in 
the choir stalls, where her absurd tilted profile was 
outlined every Sunday against the dignified draperies 
of the chancel. Aunt Retta, who sat with Aunt Nell 
and Debby in a front pew, was never so proud of 
Polly as when she saw her up there in her surplice, 
singing lustily in a shrill soprano that led all the rest. 
Polly opened her mouth wider than anybody else and 
was very sure of her notes, and she never forgot her 
words. The only trouble was that Polly would look 
around at the congregation, instead of straight ahead 
at the opposite side of the chancel. Aunt Retta was 
often severe about this, but Polly did hate to miss all 
the interesting things that went on during the service, 
and besides, she wanted to see what everybody had on; 
it helped with Sylvia Fisher. 

Today, however, Polly was on her best behavior, 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


199 


and never once looked around at the congregation, 
even during the prayer, although out of the corner of 
her eye she could see that Zab was signalling something 
from a back pew. It was probably nothing, decided 
Polly, except that he wanted to speak to her after 
church. And sure enough, there he was, waiting for 
her at the door, when she had finally thanked Miss 
Hopkins for the five cents, and helped her to put away 
the surplices. 

"Can you come over this afternoon and listen to 
the radio?” said Zab. Sundays were inclined to drag 
for Zab, without Polly’s constant society. 

"No,” said Polly at once, "there’s nothing good on 
on Sunday—just sermons and symphonies.” 

"Well, I’ve got something for you,” said Zab, des¬ 
perately playing his trump card, "something special.” 

Polly considered for a moment, faintly curious. 

"No,” she said again, "I’ve got to work on my 
novel.” And she turned and ran off to try to find 
Debby, who had disappeared immediately after 
church. 

Debby, indeed, had hurried up the hill, to catch 
Judge Parker as soon as he should return from Thom- 
aston, and ask him for his car. She found him just 
closing the door of the garage, as she turned into his 
driveway. 

"Well, well,” said Judge Parker, a smile on his wide, 
florid face, as soon as he saw Debby. "What’s all this 
flurry and scurry about?” 


200 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Then hesitating a little, for Debby had all the Steb- 
bins reluctance to ask favors, she made her request. 
But she need not have faltered, for the Judge was 
kindness itself, and said that of course she should have 
the car, for the whole afternoon if she wished, for he 
had work to do at home. And then he pinched her 
cheek, and asked her, with pompous playfulness, to 
whom in Bellport Harbor she was taking all those 
roses. 

It seemed to Debby that dinner that day would 
never be over and cleared away. But by three o’clock 
both Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell had gone upstairs for 
their afternoon naps, and even Polly had vanished. 
Then, free at last, Debby slipped out of the house 
and across the road to Judge Parker’s. She felt impa¬ 
tient now with everything that kept her from Eric— 
with the garage door that stuck, with the long, nar¬ 
row driveway where one must back so carefully, with 
Polly’s shrill voice, calling from the window of the 
"office” in the attic, to ask where she was going. 

Debby felt like a caged bird set free, as the car slid 
down the hill into the quiet town, through the covered 
bridge over Salt Creek, and out into the bright fra¬ 
grance of the country. It seemed that summer had 
come again, after the frost of yesterday. Debby could 
see a few late wild roses flowering still in the pastures 
along the way, and the wind blew sweet and warm in 
her face, through the open window of the Judge’s 
car. Debby liked to drive. The responsive wheel, the 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


201 


accelerator beneath her foot, the knowledge that at 
her own sweet will she could go on and on over the 
hills, faster and faster, until it was like flying, thrilled 
her. And she flew today, faster perhaps than she 
realized, for there was little traffic, even on Sunday, 
on the Harbor road, and she was going to Eric. Every 
field and patch of woods along the way brought back 
to her the things that she and Eric had said to each 
other on that happy yesterday, and it was not until 
she came to the last long hill that she suddenly remem¬ 
bered that she did not yet know just what she was 
going to say to him today. 

She slowed down then, and began to turn over in 
her mind just how she should begin. Should she tell 
him at once that she was aware of all that had hap¬ 
pened with Polly in the shop, or should she lead up 
to it gradually? But of course, she would have to 
plunge right in, for otherwise what reason could she 
give for coming to find him? But suppose she found 
him with his mother and sister! What should she say 
then? Debby brought the car to a sudden jerky stop 
at the top of the hill. What a goose she had been not 
to think of that! All the time she had been imagining 
herself going to Eric, but the chances were that Mrs. 
Anderson and Edith would be with him, and what 
could she do then? For a moment Debby had a wild 
impulse to turn the car right about and go back to 
Bellport. 

Clutching the wheel, she looked off across the long 


202 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


stretches of pasture, falling away beneath her to the 
blue ocean far below, hardly knowing, in her momen¬ 
tary panic, what she saw, until suddenly she saw Eric 
himself, standing alone against a broken stone wall 
among the bayberry bushes, looking out to sea with his 
field glasses. His back was toward her, and he gave no 
sign that he saw or heard, as Debby drew the car to the 
side of the road, and ran toward him through the pas¬ 
ture. She had almost reached him before he was aware 
of her, for he swung abruptly around from the wall. 

"Debby!” he exclaimed in astonishment, slipping 
the field glasses into his pocket, and coming toward her 
with outstretched hand, "You?” 

And her name on his lips for the first time seemed 
to her so natural that she hardly noted it. 

"Oh, Eric,” she said, all her utter relief at finding 
him in her voice. Then she was silent, not knowing 
what to say next, just looking at him with pleading 
in her eyes. 

And Eric looked at her, slender and white among 
the bayberry bushes, the wind of the hilltop blowing 
her hair into a soft disorder, for she had not worn her 
hat, and for a moment he too seemed to find no words. 
Then— 

"My, but Em glad you came,” he said. "I should 
have gone to you before this, but that Mother and 
Edith had the car. After I saw Polly last night I knew 
that—something was the matter. Tell me what I can 
do.” 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


203 


"How can I tell you?” said Debby, clasping her 
hands tightly in front of her, in anguish of spirit, but 
nevertheless looking up at Eric with eyes that were 
very clear. "It’s we, we who should be doing some¬ 
thing after accusing you in this outrageous way.” 

"But you have not accused me, have you, Debby?” 
said Eric, searching her face. 

"Oh, no,” she said, with an intensity that he could 
not mistake. 

"Then it doesn’t matter,” said Eric, with quiet con¬ 
viction. "Suppose we sit down here on the wall, while 
you tell me about it.” 

So they sat together in the sunny high pasture, 
sweetened by the tang of the sea and the warm fra¬ 
grance of the bayberry, while Debby, with many 
hesitations, told Eric the story of the loss of the gold 
beads, not sparing Aunt Retta or omitting her own 
suspicions of old Anthony. One thing only about the 
beads she did not tell. Not even with Eric could she 
share Aunt Nelly’s broken romance. Through it all 
Eric sat quietly beside her on the wall, his hands 
clasped loosely between his knees, his eyes on the 
bushes in front of him. Once or twice he looked up 
at her in surprise, but there was no hint of reproach 
in his gray eyes. As Debby faltered through the sorry 
story of Aunt Retta’s accusations, softening them as 
best she could, she felt with an almost unbearable 
pang that she was saying these things to one who had 
never before known what it was to be suspected of 


204 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


anything mean or false. Debby’s heart cried out that 
it was all too preposterous. 

"Oh, I don’t want you to think that we Stebbins 
are not just and fair,” she said, slipping from the wall, 
and standing very straight among the bushes. "Aunt 
Retta has been terribly worried, but Pm sure that 
sometime she will blame herself for this.” 

Eric too had risen from the wall. 

"I think I see how it all happened,” he said slowly, 
choosing his words. "And of course it was true that 
your aunt did not really know anything about me. 
For the time being, however, suppose we put all the 
blame on Polly’s wretched turtle.” 

For a moment Debby saw in the gray eyes the happy 
gleam that she knew so well. Flow generous he was! 
But he was instantly sober again. 

"How soon can I see your aunt?” he said, with grave 
decision. 

"I could take you now,” said Debby. 

"Would you?” said Eric. And he turned quickly 
toward the road and the car. 

In a few moments they were riding again together, 
back through the hills and pastures of Bellport, but 
today it was Debby who sat behind the wheel, and 
Eric who studied the profile beside him that seemed 
curiously untroubled, in spite of the agitation of the 
last hour. Debby herself wondered a little at her own 
lightheartedness. She knew well enough that they 
were on the way to no easy interview, but all was at 





r 7 don’t want you to think we 

and fair.” 


Stebbins are not just 







206 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


last clear between Eric and herself, and nothing else 
seemed to matter, as Eric had said. As yesterday, they 
spoke little, but she felt the same sense of comrade¬ 
ship. When the roofs and elms of Bellport came into 
sight, however, over the last green hill, Eric spoke. 

''Oh, by the way,” he said, "I believe I have a cus¬ 
tomer for your old sea chest.” 

"Really?” said Debby, her face lighting for a mo¬ 
ment into downright happiness. "How wonderful!” 

"And I am quite sure,” added Eric, "that I can get 
them to give two hundred dollars.” 

"Two hundred dollars?” repeated Debby, incredu¬ 
lously. "Without their even seeing it? How can 
they?” 

"I rather think they will take my word for it,” 
he said. 

There was something in Eric’s tone, or Debby fan¬ 
cied that there was, that made her turn quickly to 
him for a moment, the color rushing to her cheeks. 
Could he be buying the chest for himself, in order to 
give her the money for Art School? Oh, she could not 
endure that! But what could she say or do? How 
could she refuse the offer unless she knew, and how 
could she ask Eric? She could make out nothing in 
that momentary glance, before she must turn back to 
her wheel. 

"That’s awfully good of you,” was all that she could 
manage to say, but her voice did not sound quite 
natural. 


AND DEBBY UNTIES IT 


207 


Then, holding tight to her wheel, she took the car 
through the narrow covered bridge over Salt Creek, 
and out into Main Street. And so, though Eric was 
beside her, Debby came home to Bellport with fresh 
trouble and uncertainty in her heart. 



Chapter Fifteen 

SOMEBODY GUESSES 

W hen Polly, at the attic window, saw Debby dis¬ 
appearing down the hill in Judge Parker’s car, 
she at once lost all interest in Sylvia Fisher, and ran 
as fast as she could out of the "office” and down the 
three flights of stairs. She felt that she just must 
know right away whether Debby was going to Bell- 
port Harbor, or only to the Academy. But by the 
time that Polly reached the sidewalk in front of the 
house, the Judge’s car was nowhere in sight. 

Across the garden and old Anthony’s field she could 
see the roofs of the Academy buildings among the 
trees on the other hill, and a small patch of the road 
leading up to them under the sugar maples. Polly 

208 




SOMEBODY GUESSES 


209 


fastened her eyes on this bit of road. If Debby were 
on the way to the Academy, the car would be there 
in just a moment. But there was no sign of move¬ 
ment on the side road, and after a few minutes Polly 
felt sure that Debby had gone to see Eric at Bellport 
Harbor. What would happen now? Polly did not 
see how she could possibly wait all the afternoon to find 
out, for she was afraid that Debby would not be back 
until supper time. With a sigh, she turned toward 
the house. 

It was just then that she saw Zab, swinging in the 
hammock on the Eatons’ porch. His back was toward 
the Stebbins mansion, but there was something about 
the way he swung that looked dejected and lonesome. 
Polly was sorry that she had snubbed Zab so com¬ 
pletely after church. Somehow she did not feel like 
going back to Sylvia Fisher just then. It was hot in 
the attic, and besides, she remembered that Zab had 
said he had something special for her. In a moment 
Polly’s curiosity had got the better of her, and she was 
walking slowly along the side-walk toward the 
Eatons’. 

"Hello,” she said when she was directly in front 
of the house. 

At the sound of Polly’s voice, Zab stopped swing¬ 
ing and jumped up from the hammock. 

"I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his round 
face as full of eagerness as it was of freckles. 

"What is it you’ve got for me?” demanded Polly. 


210 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


“Come on in,” said Zab, “and I’ll show you.” 

“No,” said Polly, who could hear through the open 
window a sermon coming in over the radio, “you bring 
it out here.” 

Zab ran into the house, appearing after a minute, 
carrying a small pasteboard box, with an elastic band 
around it. He walked slowly down the path toward 
Polly. 

“I got them for you,” he said, holding out the box 
over the gate. “I guess it has almost as many in it 
as the other.” 

“What?” said Polly, thoroughly mystified, taking 
the box from Zab’s hand and opening it. 

It was full of daddy-long-legs. 

“They’re just as good,” explained Zab hastily. 
“Lots of their legs are gone, and I didn’t mean to lose 
the other one.” 

Polly stared at the box. She had forgotten all about 
the daddy-long-legs. So much had been happening, 
indeed, that she had not thought of them since Debby 
had found them on the hall table on Community 
Day. 

“Did you take that other box out of the drawer?” 
demanded Polly, looking sharply at Zab with her black 
eyes, in the way that always scared him. 

“Ye—es,” he said, stammering a little, as he hur¬ 
ried on with his story. “You told me they were to 
go to the hospital and when I went in that day, you 
weren’t there, and your aunt was in the parlor talking 



SOMEBODY GUESSES 


211 


to somebody—and I took the box out of the drawer 
and stuck it in my pocket—and then I saw the wood¬ 
chuck going through the stone wall and I went after 
it—and—and the box got lost.” 

Polly scowled. All at once she recalled how she 
had waited for Zab at the hospital the day that Eric 
Anderson had sprained his ankle, and how guilty Zab 
had looked, when later she had caught him getting 
over Judge Parker’s stone wall. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” demanded Polly sternly. 

“W—ell,” said Zab, fingering the top of the gate, 
and not daring to look at Polly any more, “I thought 
I’d hunt again bye-and-bye, and p’raps I’d find it. 
I didn’t take the elastic off, so I guess the daddy-long- 
legs are still in it all right. It’s somewhere in the 
cornfield.” 

“You didn’t look in that box at all?” said Polly, and 
her eyes seemed to Zab brighter and sharper than ever. 
As a matter of fact, Polly just then remembered other 
things that had happened in connection with the 
drawer of the hall table. 

“No,” said Zab, “you said not to open it.” 

“Zab Eaton,” said Polly, in her most impressive 
voice, “do you remember just where you went in the 
cornfield?” 

“I—guess so,” said Zab. 

“Come on,” said Polly suddenly, opening the gate, 
and pulling Zab through. “Quick! We’ve got to find 
that other box.” And she dragged him by the sleeve 


212 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


of his best Sunday suit across the road to the stone 
wall, on the other side of which lay the Judge’s corn¬ 
field. 

In a moment the children had climbed over the 
wall. 

"Now which way did you go?” said Polly. 

"I—I don’t know,” faltered poor Zab, glancing 
hopelessly down the aisles of rustling yellow corn¬ 
stalks, that all looked exactly alike. 

"Well, we’ll start here,” said Polly, "and walk up 
and down between every single one of the rows.” 
And so saying, she marched away briskly into the 
corn. 

"Oh, dear,” said Zab, looking down the road where 
the great cornfield stretched away behind the stone 
wall almost as far as he could see. Everything seemed 
to be shimmering under the hot September sun, and 
Zab’s red face was warm and moist. Polly was al¬ 
ready far in among the corn, bending down to search 
carefully under every stalk. Suddenly Zab stooped 
and picked up something. 

"Polly,” he shouted, running in among the corn 
stalks too, "Oh, Polly, you’ve dropped the cover off 
my box and you’re spilling out the daddy-long-legs!” 
It had taken Zab a whole month to collect them. 

But Polly was paying no attention to the box in 
her hand. She had guessed something that had driven 
the new box of daddy-long-legs and everything else 
completely out of her mind—something so absorbing 


SOMEBODY GUESSES 


213 


that she even forgot that she intended to be sitting 
on the front steps when Debby should return from 
Bellport Harbor in Judge Parker’s car. 

And that is why, when an hour or two later, Debby 
did at last bring the car to a stop in front of the 
Stebbins mansion, there was no Polly to greet her. 
Debby and Eric slipped out at either side of the car, 
and went together, without a word, up the walk to 
the front door. The house, as they came into it, 
seemed so very quiet that Debby for a moment thought 
that her aunts must be still in their rooms. The hall 
as usual was pungent and sweet from the bowl of 
asters on the table, and through the door of the draw¬ 
ing-room Debby could see Great-grandmother’s por¬ 
trait, bright with a gleam of late afternoon sunshine, 
that fell directly upon it, the richness of the dress 
and the beauty of the face glowing in the light which, 
oddly enough, scarcely touched any other spot in the 
room. It was almost, thought Debby, as if Great¬ 
grandmother were reaching forward in warmth and 
serenity, to bid Eric welcome. And then something 
moved by the secretary, and Debby saw Aunt Retta 
rising from her chair. Stiff and handsome, in her 
black afternoon dress, Miss Henrietta looked from 
under level brows, first at Debby and then at Eric, 
standing together just inside the door. 

"Good afternoon,” she said, but she did not offer 
to shake hands, or indeed move from where she stood 
by the secretary. 


214 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


But Eric walked directly across the room and stood 
before her. 

"Miss Stebbins,” he said quietly, going with char¬ 
acteristic simplicity right to the point, "I believe there 
has been some misunderstanding, and I want, if I can, 
to straighten it out.” 

How splendid he looked, thought Debby, straight 
and broad-shouldered in his Norfolk jacket before 
Aunt Retta, the same shaft of sunlight that had 
touched Great-grandmother’s portrait, now lighting 
up his face, and the bright hair above it. 

"To what do you refer, Mr. Anderson?” said Miss 
Henrietta, in her most unbending tone. 

"Your niece tells me that I am suspected of open¬ 
ing the drawer of your hall table and taking some¬ 
thing out,” said Eric without a moment’s hesitation, 
"gold beads, I believe, and I want to assure you that 
I know nothing of any such beads, although I confess 
that I did open the drawer to put something in, 
namely a turtle which I found in my hat as I went 
out.” 

"What!” said Miss Henrietta, her cool composure 
deserting her for the moment. For while Miss Henri¬ 
etta had little regard for Eric and his hat, she was al¬ 
ways much concerned for the dignity of the Steb- 
bins mansion. 

"It does not matter in the least,” said Eric, looking 
directly at Miss Henrietta with those clear gray eyes 
that had looked so disconcertingly through Polly. 


215 


SOMEBODY GUESSES 

The one who put it into my hat and I have a per¬ 
fect understanding about it, and I don’t at all object 
to turtles.” 

It was Polly!” said Miss Henrietta, feeling her own 
dignity, as well as that of the Stebbins mansion slip¬ 
ping away by the unexpected turn in the conver¬ 
sation, and making every effort to recapture it, under 
the scrutiny of those gray eyes. 

"Won’t you be seated,” said Miss Henrietta, feel¬ 
ing herself, perhaps, in need of a chair. 

"Thank you,” said Eric, and, having pulled forward 
an armchair for Aunt Retta, he seated himself by the 
secretary. 

Debby had sat down on an ottoman near the door, 
where she could see the others, her own face in shadow. 
For some reason Debby no longer had any fear of this 
interview. There was even the flicker of a smile 
about her lips, as from her dark corner she watched 
the quiet mastery with which Eric faced Aunt 
Retta. 

"You see,” he continued, quite as if he were ex¬ 
plaining things to an understanding friend, "I had 
just taken the turtle out of my hat as you came in at 
the door, and as it seemed rather odd to meet you with 
it in my hand, I slipped it into the drawer, which was 
partly open.” For the second time Polly’s turtle 
seemed to be breaking the tension. 

"You were just putting it into the drawer?” was 
all that Aunt Retta could manage to say. In a flash 


216 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


she remembered how she had accused Polly that day 
in the hall. So Polly had been telling the literal truth 
after all, the scamp. Miss Henrietta was finding it 
more and more difficult to resume the full measure 
of her lost dignity, while the turtle remained the 
center of the conversation. She therefore made an 
effort to change it. "But what I should like to know,” 
she said, cool and straight in her chair, "is what be¬ 
came of the beads. I put them there in the box my¬ 
self.” 

"I hope that you will let me help you to solve that 
mystery, Miss Stebbins,” said Eric, with quiet cour¬ 
tesy. Debby could see that Aunt Retta was disarmed, 
in spite of herself, by Eric’s evident assumption that 
she would, of course, accept his word, now that he 
had given it. "Do you suppose,” he added, "that 
Polly could possibly have taken the box—by mistake?” 
It seemed to Eric that many things might be possible, 
with Polly in the house. 

Before Miss Henrietta could reply, there was a step 
in the hall, and Miss Eleanor appeared at the door. She 
stopped abruptly when she saw what was going on in 
the room, and half turned toward the stairs, as if 
she would make her escape. Then all at once she 
seemed to change her mind, for she walked directly 
into the drawing-room toward Eric, holding out her 
hand. 

"How do you do, Mr. Anderson,” she said, with 
her own pleasant smile. "I am glad to see you again.” 


SOMEBODY GUESSES 


217 


Then she went on into the dining-room, leaving Eric 
standing before Aunt Retta. 

Darling little Aunt Nelly, thought Debby, how she 
always did manage to do the gracious and comfortable 
thing. Eric had at last been welcomed to the Stebbins 
mansion! But Aunt Retta still sat as stiff and straight 
as a poker. 

'Tolly says that she knows nothing about the beads,” 
said Miss Henrietta, resuming the conversation, "and 
Polly always tells the truth.” And so saying, she rose, 
almost, Debby thought, with a hint of dismissal. 

But before Eric could take the hint, if such it was, 
there was a commotion in the hall, and another, quite 
extraordinary, apparition at the door, Polly herself, 
in short, waving something in the air, and fairly 
bursting with more truth to be told. 

"I’ve found them!” she cried shrilly. "Eve found 
them and it wasn’t Eric at all!” 

And there in Polly’s uplifted hand was Aunt Nell’s 
string of gold beads at last! 

"Where?” began Aunt Retta, as they all turned in 
astonishment to Polly. 

But her words were cut short by a shriek from the 
back of the house. It was the voice of Aunt Nell, and 
so sharp was the sound that they all, with one accord, 
rushed alarmed toward the kitchen—all, that is, ex¬ 
cept Polly, who stood apparently rooted to the floor 
of the hall, one hand still holding the beads, the other 
pressed over her mouth. 


218 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Debby, having been nearest to the door, was the 
first to reach the kitchen through the hall, with Eric 
close behind her, joined almost at once by Aunt Retta, 
white of face, through the door of the butler’s pantry. 
But all that they could see, in the twilight of the seem¬ 
ingly peaceful kitchen, was Aunt Nell, standing by 
the table, staring into the big preserving kettle, which 
had been inadvertently left there. 

"What is it? It’s moving!” said Aunt Nell, in a 
voice that shook a little, "Put on the light, some¬ 
body.” 

And when Eric had quickly switched on the elec¬ 
tricity, and they all, crowding around, looked nerv¬ 
ously into the kettle, there at the bottom of it was a 
half-grown and thoroughly frightened woodchuck! 

"Oh!” said Aunt Retta, the last shred of her dig¬ 
nity deserting her, as she sat down on the wood-box. 



Chapter Sixteen 

AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 

B ut I was only going to leave it there a little while, 
until I showed you the beads,” pleaded Polly a few 
moments later in the drawing-room. ''There wasn’t 
any other place, and Zab wouldn’t come in and hold 
it because he had on his best Sunday suit.” Aunt Retta 
looked down upon Polly’s own once-white Sunday 
dress, and raised her eye-brows, "and its jaw is swol¬ 
len,” continued Polly, "and we’ve got to do something 
for it and—” 

"Never mind that,” interrupted Aunt Retta impa¬ 
tiently, shaking the beads which she now held in her 
hand. "Tell us at once where you found the neck¬ 
lace.” 


219 


» 




220 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"All right,” said Polly, delighted to change the sub¬ 
ject. "It was over in the cornfield.” 

"The cornfield!” echoed the others. 

"Yes,” said Polly. "Zab took the box out of the 
table drawer because he thought there were daddy- 
long-legs in it for the hospital, and he lost it in the 
cornfield and never told me until today, and then I 
guessed right off it was the beads.” 

Standing in the middle of the drawing-room in her 
bedraggled dress, Polly looked from one to the other, 
very eager and bright-eyed. Polly dearly loved to hold 
the center of the stage, and never had she found so 
interested an audience. Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell 
on one side, Debby and Eric on the other, were one 
and all hanging upon her words. As dramatically as 
she could, Polly recounted how she and Zab had walked 
back and forth, back and forth, through Judge 
Parker’s cornfield, until at last they had come upon 
the dirty, water-soaked box, with the beads still safely 
inside. 

"And then on the way back,” said Polly, "we—” 
She was just on the point of telling about the exciting 
adventure with the woodchuck, when it suddenly oc¬ 
curred to her that perhaps it would be just as well not 
to bring up that subject again. "We—we—just ran 
like the dickens—and that’s all,” she finished rather 
abruptly. 

There was a moment’s silence at this sudden ending 
to the story. All the time that Polly had been talking 



AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 


221 


Debby had been looking at Aunt Retta. Never be¬ 
fore had she seen just that expression on Aunt Retta’s 
face, and the silence was now broken in a voice that 
was not quite Aunt Retta’s either. 

"No,” said Miss Henrietta, "that is not all. We owe 
Mr. Anderson an apology, and I shall make it now.” 
As she spoke, Miss Henrietta moved across the room 
in front of Polly, and held out her hand to Eric, "Mr. 
Anderson,” she said, with her usual stateliness, and yet 
with a graciousness that was rare in Aunt Retta, "no 
Stebbins is ever afraid to admit being in the wrong, 
and I hope that you will be good enough to overlook 
this hasty misunderstanding. I sincerely beg your 
pardon.” 

Never, thought Debby, had Aunt Retta looked so 
handsome. Oh, but she was fine, after all, and Debby 
was proud of her. Why, Aunt Retta had almost smiled 
upon Eric! As for Eric—he smiled whole-heartedly at 
Aunt Retta—that winning smile, said Debby to her¬ 
self, that no one was ever able to resist. 

"Apology is quite unnecessary, Miss Stebbins,” he 
said, taking Miss Henrietta’s hand. "We had only to 
meet, I think, to understand each other.” 

And then Aunt Retta outdid herself entirely. 

"I hope,” she said, "that you will stay and have 
supper with us. It will be ready in half an hour, and 
perhaps meanwhile Deborah would like to show you 
the garden.” 

"Thank you,” said Eric, "I should be delighted to 


222 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


stay, if you will let me use the telephone, to call my 
family.” 

'Tolly will show you where it is,” said Miss Henri¬ 
etta, as she turned, in her own brisk way, toward 
the dining-room. 

While Eric was being directed to the telephone by 
an eager Polly, Debby slipped out the front door 
into the twilight, to return the Judge’s car to the 
garage. The sky beyond the trees was bright with the 
clear pink and gold and green of an autumn sunset, 
and above the color rode the most delicate of cres¬ 
cent moons. Debby thought that she had never seen 
so sweet a night. As she came happily back across the 
road, Eric was waiting for her under the portico. 

"It is almost too dark to see much of the garden,” 
she said, leading the way around the house, "but we 
might just walk down the path.” And so engrossed 
were they in each other’s companionship that they 
did not notice Polly’s absurd nose pressed wistfully 
against the other side of the screen door. For once, 
however, Polly understood clearly that she was not 
wanted. 

"Gardens are loveliest of all in the evening, I think,” 
said Eric, as they came into the broad path, bordered 
with great pale mallows, and faintly fragrant with 
the few other flowers that had escaped the frosts. "At 
least, they were in Florence, where I first knew gardens 
well.” 

"Oh, have you been in Italy?” said Debby. 


AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 223 

“Yes,” said Eric, 1 T was there for a year in the mu¬ 
seums, studying, not creating like you.” 

Walking along the garden path, he told her of the 
beauty of the Italian gardens, and of his life in Flor¬ 
ence. It seemed a magic hour, that opened vistas of 
delight and carried her far away. But just as they 
turned to retrace their steps up the now dark garden, 
Debby saw something that brought her suddenly back 
to the here and now. A light flared out in the cottage 
in the field below, and she could make out the dim 
figure of old Min behind the kerosene lamp in An¬ 
thony Thorpe’s window. In a flash she thought again 
of the beads, and of how strangely old Tony had 
acted about them. But now it was clear that he could 
not have had anything to do with their disappearance. 
Why, then, had he looked so sly? Why had he always 
put his fingers to his lips? Twice since that first night 
she had tried to probe old Tony, but always with the 
same baffling result—just "Sh-sh—sh-sh” on his with¬ 
ered old lips. 

Mystified anew, Debby listened to Eric’s voice, 
scarcely conscious for a moment of his words, until 
she realized that he was asking her something for the 
second time. 

"Would it be possible, do you think,” he said, "for 
me to see the old sea-chest to-night?” 

"Oh, yes,” said Debby, collecting her thoughts. 
"We will go and look at it now.” 

As they had just then reached the top of the garden 


224 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


path again, she led the way directly into her little 
studio, thrpugh the door that opened on the garden. 

Eric stood before the chest and examined it intently, 
rapping the sound old wood, touching the graceful 
lines of the carving along the top. 

"May I see the inside too ?’ 5 he said. 

"Of course,” said Debby. And she lifted the cover. 

There on top of the pile of drawing papers lay her 
sketch of the two heads, Youth and Age, the face of 
Youth still blank. The quick color came into Debby’s 
cheeks, as she saw Eric’s eyes on the sketch. Would 
he guess her purpose with that face? But if he did, 
he gave no sign. Apparently absorbed in the chest, 
he continued to run his fingers along the true, sure 
workmanship. Debby watching, knew that she could 
never again forget how that face should be filled in. 

"It is a fine piece,” said Eric at last, "well worth the 
two hundred dollars. I can let you know positively 
in a day or two, but I am pretty sure now that my— 
my client will take it.” And he looked at Debby, sur¬ 
prised apparently at the doubt upon her face. "Does 
that not seem to you a fair price?” he added. 

"Oh, yes,” she said hastily. "More, much more than 
I ever dreamed. But,” and although she hesitated, she 
looked directly at him, "but I must ask you something. 
It isn’t you, is it?” 

"I?” said Eric. 

"You—who are buying the chest?” 

There was a moment of silence, and Debby, search- 


AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 225 

ing his face, hoped that it was just surprise that she 
saw, but she was not sure. 

"No,” he said slowly, "it is not I. But would that 
make a difference?” 

"Oh, yes,” she said. "Can’t you see?” And her eyes 
were still full of doubt. 

"Don’t you trust me, Debby—dear?” he said. 

All at once he held out both his hands to her. She 
caught her breath. Then with a sudden smile, she put 
her hands in his. 

"Oh, yes, Eric, I do,” she said, with all her heart. 

At that moment the door into the hall was opened. 

"Supper is all rea—oh! ” said Polly. She had suddenly 
seen something that would be wonderful for Sylvia 
Fisher. 

Sunday night supper was always served in the 
drawing-room at the Stebbins mansion, and in a few 
minutes Eric was sitting between Aunt Retta and 
Aunt Nell, while Debby and Polly brought in the 
trays. A small gate-leg table had been placed beside 
Aunt Retta, and on this Debby put the tray with the 
silver tea service, and the hot water, covered with a 
cosy. Everybody was given a lacquer tray, with a plate 
and a white, fringed napkin upon it, and while Debby 
brought the cups of tea from Aunt Retta’s table, Polly, 
once more arrayed in a clean dress, passed the bread 
and butter sandwiches and Aunt Nell’s oatmeal wafers. 
The night outside was chill, and at Aunt Retta’s re¬ 
quest Eric lighted the open fire. As Debby well knew, 


226 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


it was a great concession on Aunt Retta’s part to al¬ 
low any outsider to light a fire on a Stebbins hearth, 
and a sure sign that the lighter was in high favor. 

Sipping her tea on the other side of Aunt Nell, 
Debby watched the quiet ease with which Eric handled 
the conversation with Aunt Retta, beginning with her 
own beautiful things in the fine old room, the very 
Chippendale in which she herself sat, and comparing 
them favorably with the treasures at the Columbian 
Museum. Aunt Retta, who prided herself on know¬ 
ing a good deal about antiques, was openly interested, 
and was presently telling the history of her various 
heirlooms to Eric, who listened as well as he talked. 
As for Polly, she sat on a stool by tjhe fire, her eyes 
glued upon Eric, and almost forgot to eat her sup¬ 
per. Altogether, it was as pleasant a family party 
as had gathered around the drawing-room hearth 
for many a day, and Debby, stealing an occasional 
glance at Great-grandmother, thought that she looked 
down upon the scene with more than her usual sweet 
gaiety. But nobody mentioned the portrait, until 
suddenly, to Debby’s utter astonishment, Aunt Retta 
looked directly up at it. 

"That, Mr. Anderson,” said Aunt Retta, impres¬ 
sively, with a motion of her hand, "is the most price¬ 
less of all the Stebbins treasures.” 

"I am sure it is, Miss Stebbins,” said Eric gravely, 
looking at the portrait as if it had never before been 
an issue between them. 


AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 


227 


"I want you to know/’ went on Aunt Retta, ''that 
I am in receipt of the letter from your museum in 
regard to the portrait. I can believe that their sug¬ 
gestions were made in good faith, and I shall answer 
the letter in a few days. But you must understand, Mr. 
Anderson, what it means to receive a proposal to 
have the portrait leave this house. We have been 
obliged to give it a great deal of anxious thought. 
Deborah, will you and Polly please remove the tea 
things.” 

Could it be possible, thought Debby in a daze, as she 
carried the silver tray through the dining-room, that 
Aunt Retta was actually considering sending the por¬ 
trait to the Columbian Museum after all! It would 
be like having the sun stand still in the heavens. And 
now that the chest was to be sold, there would be no 
need for even considering the sale of the picture. As 
soon as she had heard definitely from Eric, she must 
tell her aunts what she was going to do, although she 
hated to broach the subject of selling anything, even 
her own sea-chest. 

When she came back from the kitchen Aunt Retta 
was in the dining-room, showing Eric Great-grand¬ 
father’s ship-model, and telling of the old family 
traditions that had to do with clipper ships, of the 
rich voyages to the Orient, with their romance and 
adventure. Never had Debby seen Aunt Retta so 
animated, so full of life and zest. Her cheeks were 
flushed, her eyes almost as bright as Polly’s, and she 


228 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


seemed to Debby twenty years younger than any Aunt 
Retta she had ever known. As the evening went on, 
even Aunt Nell sat looking in evident surprise at this 
strange new sister. And when at last they heard a car 
drive up to the gate, and knew that it must be Edith 
Anderson for her brother, Aunt Retta went with Eric 
to the door, opening it for him herself, and inviting 
him to come again. 

Debby walked with Eric down the path to the 
gate. The crescent moon had gone, but the night 
was still very sweet. 

"You shall hear from me soon,” he said in a low 
voice, as they went toward the car. "And if—when 
—you come, I shall be waiting for you. You know 
that, don’t you?” 

"Yes,” said Debby, also very low. 

For a moment she felt his hand on hers. Then they 
stepped into the light from the car, where Edith 
Anderson was sitting. 

When Debby came back into the house, Aunt 
Nell and Polly had disappeared, and she could hear the 
faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen. But Aunt Retta 
still stood, stately and quiet, in the drawing-room, 
as if wrapped in all the memories that she herself had 
evoked. She turned around as Debby came into the 
room. 

"He seemed to appreciate everything,” said Aunt 
Retta, with satisfaction. "He is a very intelligent 
young man.” 


AUNT RETTA IS A TRUE STEBBINS 


229 


And Debby, looking at the face softened by those 
memories, walked across the room to where Miss 
Henrietta stood, with the portrait of her mother be¬ 
hind her. 

"Oh, Aunt Retta,” she said, quite as if it had been 
Aunt Nell, "you are a dear. I think you are very like 
Great-grandmother.” 



Chapter Seventeen 

A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 


D ebby knelt before the old sea-chest, and drew her 
hand along the worn, delicately wrought carv¬ 
ing on the top: 

"Where thy treasure—there thy heart” 

Yes, it had been her chief treasure, and it hurt her 
very much to let it go. Perhaps Great-grandfather 
had sat here himself long ago, in her workshop, with 
the fall sunshine streaming in through the doorway, 
as it had been streaming all this afternoon, and chis¬ 
elled and carved and sung. The only thing that Aunt 
Retta remembered about Great-grandfather was the 
rollicking songs of the sea that had echoed through 


230 




A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 231 

the house when he, her father, came home. He had 
been young and happy and broad-shouldered like 
Eric. And he must have liked lovely things, just as 
she did, or he would never have carved that vine with 
the starry flowers that twined itself among the letters. 

"Where thy treasure—there thy heart” 

Was he thinking of Great-grandmother when he 
carved them? Had he already seen her in that Spanish 
island far away, with her gay smile and her bright 
eyes? And had he made this old chest to hold her 
treasures when he should bring her home to Bellport? 
Debby threw both her arms across it. How could she 
ever sell it, in spite of Mrs. Anderson’s letter. 

For yesterday had come the loveliest of letters from 
Eric’s mother. It was she, after all, who wanted to 
buy the chest. She had been looking for years, she 
wrote, for just such an old genuine home-made treas¬ 
ure as Eric described this to be, and if Debby could 
really make up her mind to part with it for so low 
a price, she, Mrs. Anderson, should feel that she had 
had a real stroke of luck at last. In her own tactful 
way Eric’s mother had allayed the last of Debby’s 
doubts. 

Now at last she could really apply for the scholar¬ 
ship—and oh, she did hope that it would not be too late 
for this year. And yet—it would be almost like selling 
Great-grandfather, and all the things that he had 
worked and hoped for. He had had to give them up 



232 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


so soon anyway, the treasures that had filled the chest. 
But what had filled it, besides the old charts, in those 
days when he went to sea with Great-grandmother in 
his clipper ship, and left it behind? And why had he 
carved those words? Always there had seemed a mys¬ 
tery about the old chest. 

Debby lifted the cover. She would take out all the 
old papers and sort them now, before it grew too dark. 
The light was out of order in the workshop, and al¬ 
ready the late afternoon sunshine had gone, leaving 
the fields below the garden shadowy with the autumn 
dusk. Looking through the open door that led into 
the garden, she could see a thread of blue smoke curl¬ 
ing up from old Anthony Thorpe’s little cottage in 
the field. A delicate smell of tea biscuits drifted in 
through the other door that opened into the hall. 
Aunt Nell would soon be wanting her in the dining¬ 
room. Debby reached into the chest and lifted out a 
pile of the old drawings. Then, sitting on the floor, she 
began to look them over. 

Suddenly there was a scurry in the hall, and Polly 
appeared in the doorway, with Zab’s tously red head 
behind her. She held in her hand an old vanilla bottle, 
filled with a white fluid and plugged with a piece of 
cheese-cloth. 

"Oh, Debby,” she began, "Tve got some warm milk 
for the little woodchuck. We’ve put him in the old 
parrot cage in the shed, and Why, what are you do¬ 
ing, Debby?” ended Polly, coming up to the chest, fol- 


A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 


233 


lowed by Zab. Both the children peered into it with 
interest. 

"Are you going to take all the things out?” asked 
Polly. 

"Yes,” said Debby. 

"Even the ones at the bottom?” 

"Yes,” repeated Debby. 

"What are you going to do with them?” continued 

Polly. 

"Throw some of them away, and put the rest on 
the shelf,” replied Debby. 

"Oh,” said Polly, considering, "then aren’t you go¬ 
ing to use the chest any more, Debby?” 

"I don’t think so,” said Debby, with a shade of im¬ 
patience. Things that were not quite straight-forward 
always made Debby impatient, and she had not yet 
told the family that she had decided to sell the sea- 
chest. 

"Then can Zab and I have it to keep our things 
in?” enquired Polly eagerly. 

Ever since old Anthony Thorpe had told them about 
the sea-chest that he had once helped Great-grand¬ 
father to make, Polly and Zab had envied Debby this 
romantic possession. 

"No,” said Debby with decision. 

Whenever her older sister spoke in that tone of voice, 
there was never anything to do, Polly knew, except 
to make a fresh start in the conversation. 

"Well, can Zab and I help now?” said Polly, who 


234 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


had always wanted to see what the bottom of the 
chest looked like. 

"We can put the things on the shelf,” suggested 
Zab. 

"Oh, I know,” cried Polly, looking out into the dusk 
of the garden, "we’ll burn the old stuff in the in¬ 
cinerator. It’s right outside the door. Can we, 
Debby?” 

"If you want to,” said Debby, busily sorting the 
sheets of old drawing papers into two piles before 
her on the floor. 

"Oh, goody,” said Zab, who loved making fires. 
"I’ll get a match from the kitchen.” 

Polly put the vanilla bottle on the floor beside the 
chest, and picked up a pile of the discarded drawing 
papers. She carried them through the door and down 
the steps to the incinerator. Her little tilted nose 
sniffed with pleasure. The twilight was deepening 
fast, and there was the chill, pungent smell of asters 
and moist earth that comes in the evening from Sep¬ 
tember gardens, mingled pleasantly with the wood 
smoke from old Anthony’s chimney down the hill. 
Quickly Polly stuffed the papers into the incinerator 
and ran back for more. 

"Wait a minute. Don’t touch those,” said Debby. 
"Those are my good drawings.” 

"What can I take?” said Polly, anxious as usual 
to get the business of the moment under way. 


A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 23 5 

"There isn’t enough out there to make a good blaze.” 

"You’ll have to wait until I sort some more,” said 
Debby firmly. "Don’t stand in the light, please. It’s 
getting awfully dark.” 

"I know,” said Zab, who had come back with the 
match, "let’s put in some leaves.” 

"All right,” said Polly, for once accepting a sug¬ 
gestion from Zab. "Aunt Retta said I should have 
to rake them up any way.” 

Both the children ran out through the door, and 
for a few minutes there was a great rustling in the 
garden, as they scurried about, gathering armfuls 
of the dry leaves to stuff into the incinerator. 

"That’s enough,” said Polly presently. "Now we’ll 
draw lots to see who’ll light it.” 

Zab, being the lucky one, struck the match on his 
corduroys, and a moment later the flames were leap¬ 
ing into the dusk, touching the clumps of asters and 
zinnias with color again, and bringing out into sharp 
relief the dry, gaunt stalks of the hollyhocks against 
the house. 

The children capered around in glee, throwing in 
great armfuls of leaves whenever the fire began to die 
down, while Debby within the door emptied the chest 
and sorted her papers by the flickering light. Pres¬ 
ently Polly broke off two of the dried hollyhock stalks 
and threw them into the fire, which made a delicious 
crackle and leaped up higher than ever. 


236 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


''Don’t put on too much,” called Debby. "I’ve got 
everything out now, and you can have the papers in 
a minute.” 

"What was that?” said Zab suddenly, standing still 
with his arms full of leaves, and looking down the hill. 

"What?” said Polly, peering into the now almost 
dark garden. 

"That mumbling sound. Something’s coming up 
from down there,” said Zab, moving cautiously around 
behind the incinerator. 

But Polly, ever curious and unafraid, ventured a 
step or two down the garden toward a shape that came 
stumblingly from the direction of the hedge. 

"Who is it?” she called, in her high fearless voice. 

The shape, which was the size of a man, made no 
reply, but moved directly toward her, up the garden 
path. It was mumbling to itself, as Zab had said, and 
was hurrying rather unsteadily. 

"Oh,” cried Polly, as the figure came out at last 
into the circle of the firelight, "it’s only old Anthony, 
Zab. Tony,” she said, going to meet him as he came 
shuffling on, short of breath, "what do you want 
here? Where are you going?” 

"The chest,” mumbled old Anthony, "the precious 
thing first—the chest.” 

"Oh, Polly, what’s the matter with him?” said Zab 
in an awe-struck voice, as he came out from behind 
the incinerator. 

For indeed in old Anthony’s eyes was an expression 


A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 


237 


such as the children had never seen before—tense, al¬ 
most rapt, as if he were looking at things that were 
far away and long ago. Even Polly shrank from that 
strange, withered old face. But she went up and 
touched his arm. 

"Have you lost your way, Tony?” she said. "Shall 
Zab and I take you home?” 

But the old man paid no heed to her or to anything 
except the leaping flames and the doorway just be¬ 
yond, from which his eyes never wavered. He seemed 
neither to see nor to hear the children. Straight toward 
the firelit door he went, where Debby, on the floor 
in front of the old chest, was still sorting her papers. 

"First of all the chest. The precious thing—the 
chest,” he continued to mumble, as, followed by the 
now frightened children, he hurried, as fast as his 
uncertain old legs would take him, up the steps and 
through the doorway. 

Debby, springing to her feet with a cry, shrank 
back against the wall, away from this strange appari¬ 
tion. The sparse gray hair and dingy beard were more 
unkempt than usual, the coat was unbuttoned and 
flapping, and the flames behind cast a weird shadow 
on the wall. But old Anthony Thorpe, seemingly un¬ 
conscious of any other presence than the chest, knelt 
swiftly down beside it, where Debby had been, and 
in the tense hush, that was broken only by the snap¬ 
ping of the fire outside, groped with trembling old 
fingers along the bottom. 



238 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


Suddenly, as if he had touched a hidden spring, 
there was an odd sort of click in the chest, and in a 
moment old Anthony was getting shakily to his feet 
again. In a sudden flare from the fire, the children 
saw that he held in his hand a strange little wooden 
box that they had never before seen. 

"The precious thing, first of all, the precious thing,” 
murmured old Anthony, turning once more, bewil¬ 
dered, toward the garden door, and shuffling out upon 
the steps. It had all happened so quickly that not 
one of them had spoken or moved, when Aunt Retta 
came suddenly out from the shadows of the other 
doorway. 

"What does all this mean?” she demanded, looking 
from Debby, Polly and Zab, standing rooted by the 
chest, to old Anthony’s retreating figure. "What is 
this old man doing here? And what is he taking 
away?” 

With long, swift strides Aunt Retta followed old 
Anthony to the foot of the steps, and took the box 
from his unresisting fingers. His errand accomplished, 
all purpose and intensity had gone out of the old 
man’s face, even as the flame had died down in the 
incinerator. He stood, the village half-wit again, 
looking blankly at Aunt Retta, as with nervous fin¬ 
gers she quickly drew the sliding cover of the wooden 
box. Then out of it, before all their astonished eyes, 
she lifted a long chain. In the low flickering light they 


A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 239 

distinctly saw the flash of precious stones and the 
shape of a great cross. 

It was Great-grandmother’s jeweled chain! 

"Who told you where to find this, Tony?” said 
Aunt Retta, her usually calm voice tense with excite¬ 
ment, turning to where old Anthony had stood. 

But he was no longer there. While Aunt Retta had 
been taking the chain from the box, he had gone 
vaguely off down the garden again. They could faintly 
see his old figure shuffling away. He had already for¬ 
gotten the jeweled chain. 

"Don’t you see, Zab!” exclaimed Polly, in an eager 
whisper. \"He saw the flames in the incinerator, and 
it made him remember what Great-grandfather said 
long ago about a fire at the big house and saving the 
precious thing. I mean the story he told that day 
when the lid of the chest fell on the cat’s paw and we 
took it home. Don’t you remember?” 

"Where could he have possibly found it in the 
chest?” said Debby. "There was nothing under the 
papers. I took them all out.” And she ran up the 
steps into the workshop again, followed by the chil¬ 
dren and Aunt Retta. 

"There’s a flashlight in that drawer,” said Polly, 
who had an uncanny way of knowing always where 
things were. 

They waited, breathless, while Debby found the 
light. 


240 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


"Look!” cried Polly, as it flashed into the bottom 
of the chest. "There, in the corner.” 

And lo, on the bottom of the chest, where no¬ 
body had ever known such a thing to be, was a tiny 
square cavity, chiselled out of one of the boards, with 
a little lid, now open, but so cunningly cut and fitted 
that when closed it seemed an unbroken part of the 
floor of the chest. 

"But how did old Anthony know th&t it was 
there?” repeated Aunt Retta greatly puzzled. "A 
hiding place like that must mean that the chain is im¬ 
mensely valuable.” She held it up where in the strong 
rays of the flashlight it sparkled in heavy richness. 
"Children,” said Aunt Retta impressively, "I think 
. that the Stebbins’ ship has come in at last!” 

Then, carrying the chain in both hands, like a 
cat’s cradle, Aunt Retta walked swiftly out into the 
hall to find her sister. And they were all too excited 
to notice that, in her best afternoon shoes, Aunt Retta 
walked directly through the little woodchuck’s warm 
milk, which was trickling across the floor from the 
overturned vanilla bottle! 

"Aunt Nell,” cried Polly, running ahead with Zab 
at her heels, "we’ve found Great-grandmother’s chain, 
we’ve found Great-grandmother’s chain—and we’re 
going to be rich and glorious!” 

"Sh, child!” said Aunt Retta. "Don’t tell all the 
neighborhood.” 

Polly, however, was not to be suppressed. 


A VERY OLD SECRET IS TOLD 


241 


"Glorious and gloriousl 
Rich and gloriousl 
The S/c£binses are .going to be 
Rich and gloriousl” 

she sang, in a sort of chant, skipping ahead of Aunt 
Retta toward the drawing-room. 

But Debby, the flashlight in her hand, lingered a 
moment in the workshop to close the old chest. It 
looked a little forlorn, she thought, standing alone, 
empty and robbed of its secret and its treasure. But 
after all, treasures hidden away were of no use. Treas¬ 
ures were meant to make people happy. And it was 
not safe to hide things. Supposing she had sold the 
chest to strangers with Great-grandmother’s jewels 
in it! Debby caught her breath, and quickly let down 
the cover. 

"Where thy treasure—there thy heart.” 

That was it! You must use your treasure, not lock 
it away, if your heart would be happy and free. The 
chance to paint, that was her real treasure. Some¬ 
how Debby was sure now that her chance had come. 

"Glorious and gloriousl 
The S/^binses are going to be 
Rich and gloriousl” 

sang the irrepressible Polly from the drawing-room, 
"Oh, Debby, come quick. Great-grandmother’s name 
is carved right on the clasp.” 

Debby turned for a moment to look back at the old 



242 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


chest. Yes, she would make things rich and glorious 
to put into it—things as beautiful as Great-grand¬ 
mother’s chain. She was sure that she could, and so 
was Eric. Oh, but life was fun! 

And smiling to herself, Debby closed the door and 
ran down the hall. 



Chapter Eighteen 

A DREAM COMES TRUE 

P olly and Zab swung side by side on the gate in 
front of the Stebbins mansion. It was cool, even 
for October, so that they wore their fall coats and 
hats, and they were plainly excited, for they looked 
first at the front door, then at Judge Parker’s car, 
which stood waiting before the gate, with the Judge 
himself at the wheel, then back at the front door 
again. 

"She’s almost ready,” said Polly. "I think she’ll 
be out in a minute.” 

"Is that a new trunk?” asked Zab, staring at the 
back of the Judge’s car, where a very shiny piece of 
baggage was strapped, with D. S. on it in red letters. 

"Yes,” said Polly. "Aunt Retta and Aunt Nell gave 
it to her when she won the scholarship at the museum. 
And she’s got a new suit-case too, with all kinds of 
things fitted into it, and a lot of new clothes. We’re 

243 



244 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


quite rich now, you know.” And Polly looked com¬ 
placently at her own new dark blue coat. 

"Yes,” said Zab, properly impressed. Zab had been 
more than ever in awe of the Stebbins mansion and 
its inmates since that strange night a month ago when 
Anthony Thorpe had found the jeweled chain in the 
old chest. 

"Is Debby going to take the chain to the city?” ven¬ 
tured Zab. 

"Of course not,” said Polly. "Aunt Retta sold the 
jewel. That’s why we’re rich. It was worth hundreds 
and hundreds and hundreds of dollars, so we shan’t 
ever have to sell the portrait. Aunt Retta said she 
wouldn’t dare to sleep in the house with anything as 
valuable as that jewel, for fear of robbers.” 

"She did sleep in the house with it, though,” said 
matter-of-fact Zab, "ever so long.” 

"Yes,” admitted Polly, musing on the strangeness 
of things, "since way, way back as far as the nineteenth 
century. And Tony knew about the chain all the 
time, and that’s why he acted so queer about the gold 
beads. Debby says he got them mixed up in his mind 
with the chain.” 

Just then there was the sound of the front door 
opening. 

"There she is,” cried Polly, jumping from the gate, 
and running up the walk. 

Debby, in her pretty brown traveling suit, was 
saying good-bye to Aunt Retta under the portico. 


A DREAM COMES TRUE 


245 


Aunt Nell was going to the station, but Miss Henri¬ 
etta very seldom left the house. 

"Good-bye, my child, 1 ” said Aunt Retta. "We shall 
miss you.” 

And Debby knew, even from the somewhat austere 
kiss, that there was something kind and warm for her 
there. She turned at the foot of the steps and threw 
Aunt Retta another kiss. Then with her arm through 
Aunt Nell’s, and with Polly behind carrying the suit¬ 
case, Debby went down the walk to the car. 

"Well, well, well, so we’re really off to the city,” 
said the Judge, as he packed them in. 

"Yes,” said Debby, with a smile that wavered a 
little. 

She sat between Aunt Nell and Polly on the back 
seat, Zab in front with the Judge, but nobody could 
think of very much to say, as they rolled down the hill 
into lower Main Street. Even Polly was silent, sitting 
back in the corner of the car, and staring up at Debby’s 
gay new hat with the red feather, and at the face 
under it, that looked more sober than usual. 

At the station by the water front they all got out, 
and the Judge helped the baggage man to set the trunk 
on the platform. He kissed Debby with genuine af¬ 
fection, and pinched her cheek, and told her not to 
let any one run away with her in the city. Then he 
got back behind his wheel and opened his newspaper, 
for the Judge had a horror of partings. 

The others stood on the platform, looking anxiously 


246 


TREASURE FOR DEBBY 


up the track, where the train would soon come around 
the curve, and saying those jerky, unimportant things 
that constitute farewells. Polly alone said nothing 
at all, shifting from one foot to the other, and won¬ 
dering why the bright October sunshine seemed so 
queer and different today. She did not now look at 
Debby, who stood beside her holding Aunt Nelly’s 
hand, but down at the rails, nor would she say a word 
to Zab, who loved railroad stations and wanted to 
talk. After a few minutes her eyes began to feel funny, 
so she stopped looking at the rails. 

Then the train came thundering and shrieking 
around the curve, and in a moment there were hasty 
good-byes, a rush for the steps, a grinding of wheels, 
and Debby was really off. She stood on the train 
platform and waved at Aunt Nell, and smiled as best 
she could, but there was no Polly to be seen. As the 
train rumbled away over the grade crossing at lower 
Main Street, however, Debby, looking from her car 
window, caught sight of a small figure in a dark blue 
coat, running running away from the station up the 
street, with a coat sleeve held across its face. Debby 
drummed on the window as hard as she could, but the 
flying figure did not stop or turn, and in a flash it 
and Main Street were blotted out, as the train rushed 
on across the outlying meadows. 

Debby, her face close to the window, looked back 
over the fields to the familiar hill, where the four tall 
chimneys of the Stebbins mansion rose among the now 


A DREAM COMES TRUE 


247 


bare elms against the sky. Then they too were gone, 
and for just a moment Debby put her face into her 
hands. But when she looked up again there was happi¬ 
ness in her eyes. Through the window she could see 
where the rails ahead gleamed in a long curve. Far 
away at the end of those shining rails she knew that 
her dreams were coming true—the Columbian Mu¬ 
seum, a year of painting—Eric. And Eric had said 
that he would be waiting for her! 
















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